Word Made Flesh
by La Penserosa
Summary: Spencer Reid wants something tangible to represent how pain has changed him and he thinks he may know someone who will understand. WARNING: SLASH and Sadomasochism. Was a one-shot, now potential work in progress.
1. The Word Made Flesh

**Warnings & Disclaimers**

I do not own the characters mentioned in this story nor am I making any money off of Criminal Minds or its characters – just borrowing them for some off the clock fun.

This story is intended for mature audiences. That being said 'maturity' is not something that necessarily coincides with the number of years that someone has lived. If you're already watching Criminal Minds there won't be anything any more graphic or gory than what you're already watching on television. However, if you are sensitive to vivid descriptions of violence, injury, or sex then please move on. There are also occasional hints at child/domestic abuse so if this is a trigger for you this may be a story to avoid.

The characters in this story engage in some very big no-no's for kink practitioners, namely drinking before a scene and using it to supplement substance abuse. Please if these ideas appeal to you in real time, do your research and be as safe as possible. Any ventures into this lifestyle should be done with a clear head and with someone who values your safety as much as you do.

This is my first story for and though I have many kinks public humiliation is not one of them so if you spot an error or have a major grievance with the story, please contact me privately rather than posting it to a public forum.

Many thanks to the DarknessIstheUniverse for all of the encouragement, proof-reading, and general hand-holding that it took to get me to finally post something.

All though this has been lightly proofed all remaining errors and inconsistencies are mine and mine alone. Thank you for taking the time to read this and all of your comments and constructive critiques are valued and welcomed.

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><p>"<em>All his days are sorrow, and his work is full of grief. Even in the night his heart has no rest. This again is to no purpose." – Ecclesiastes 2:23 <em>

"_Children show scars like medals. Lovers use them as secrets to reveal. A scar is what happens when the word is made flesh." – Leonard Cohen_

Spencer tried to stifle a sob as he stood facing the strong and solid oak door that stood between him and what he hoped would provide him comfort.

He couldn't block out the failure that seemed to threaten to swallow him whole. The entire team had just weathered a terrifying and disappointing case. The UnSub had dissembled and deceived just long enough for his captive to expire in the cruelest of fashions. There was something about this victim, a young boy, which struck Spencer harder than any of their recent cases.

Each of the team members could barely hide their reaction to the sight of the young blonde male lying bruised and lifeless on the floor. Spencer knew what he'd suffered before he had died, the entire team knew all too well, but for Spencer he couldn't help but feel defeated. Not too long ago he had been one of the lucky ones, saved just in the nick of time, with nothing to show for it but the memories that would not cease in times like these.

As Spencer stood frozen in front of the door, he fought to uncover the words that would express just how he was feeling without rousing suspicions that he was flirting with the idea of using again. Rossi would have a few drinks, reflect on those he did save, and retire to sleep. JJ had her family. Prentiss seemed to have mastered the art of compartmentalization. Morgan would go running or begin some sort of labor-intensive activity. Then there was Aaron Hotchner, what was he doing? Spencer had overheard Hotch telling Rossi that Jack would be away when he got home – something about a sports summer camp.

Spencer's thoughts overwhelmed him as he imagined his cold and lonely apartment and Hotch coming home to the same situation when what he considered what he could be coming home to. Spencer released a sob that he didn't know he was holding in, as tears ran down his cheeks.

The door in front of him opened and there stood his superior, still in his work clothes, tie loosened, with drink in hand.

Hotch took in the younger man's appearance and without a word placed a hand on the back of his neck and guided him inside – Spencer followed him without resistance. Hotch set the drink down and gathered the young man into his arms. They stood in the entrance to the apartment that way for several moments, neither one of them moving, just breathing softly and settling deeper into the comforting embrace.

When Spencer released another audible expression of his sadness he pulled away and began trying to cover up his melancholy by speaking in his trademark rapid fire pace.

"I'm sorry. I just didn't know where else to go. I thought that everyone else would be occupied. Not that you couldn't be. I'm mean, uh, am I interrupting something? No, I should go."

Hotch placed his hand on Spencer's shoulder. "Would you like something to drink?"

Without thinking Spencer accepted.

Hotch fixed him a glass to match his own –half empty and filled with a mysterious brown liquid that made Spencer's nose and throat burn as he took the first sip. Hotch took the lead and went to sit in a single leather chair in the corner of his apartment. Spencer followed awkwardly placing himself across from Hotch on the matching leather couch.

After several long moments of silence, Hotch swallowed the rest of his drink and set down the glass on the table in front of him. "No matter how seasoned you become there are still those cases that strike you as if you were a cadet fresh out of the classroom. Empathy isn't something you can turn off," Hotch rose and walked behind Spencer freshening his glass, "I could see my son in his face." Hotch couldn't bear to see Spencer's face with that confession. He couldn't bear knowing anyone knew those thoughts and not having to look at his confessor helped maintain that reality.

Hotch remained at the bar longer than necessary waiting for Spencer to speak.

"I could see too many painful memories on that final victim. He was me back in the god-awful marsh and he," Spencer let out a long breath, "he was you-I mean-he was what I feared we'd find when we got to your house. " Spencer hurried to explain his thinking, "He couldn't have been – I knew that- I mean that day of our interview in the prison. I really believed you were ready to beat him to death if it came down to that."

Hotch couldn't help it and he chuckled aloud at that last sentiment. "I think he liked that idea a little too much."

Spencer bristled at these words. The thoughts of his unblinking coworker brought the inevitable to mind – had he really stared down Foyet? Did he look him in the eyes while he killed him too? He knew that Hotch had a hate and vengeance- filled current running through him that he kept well in check. Spencer had seen it in that prison and every time that Hotch encountered a man that enjoyed tormenting those that couldn't fight back. His empathy with the Hollow Creek victim turned UnSub connected at just that point. Spencer suspected that Hotch had let him take the shot. He wondered how much satisfaction was mingled in the death of the Hollow Creek killer and Foyet.

Spencer suspected that Hotch's desire to rip into someone with his bare hands probably reared its head more than he would like the team to know and more than Hotch wanted to acknowledge.

When Hotchner returned with Spencer's glass he took a faint sip and then waited a few beats before downing the entire glass. Hotch's brow furrowed with concern at this display.

"It isn't just the case that you're trying to drown out is it?" Hotch said as he watched the young man close his eyes trying to absorb the burn and heady sensation that the liquor brought with it. "What did you come here to ask me?"

Spencer let out a deep breath he didn't know he was holding, "I know there is a scientific explanation for what I want, not like that makes it any better. When the body experiences prolonged exposure to pain it floods itself with epinephrine, endorphins and enkephalins. It's our body trying to preserve what is left of our sanity by taking us out of the moment by sending the brain on a self-induced drug, for want of a better word, trip. The pain must remain constant and even in its intensity for this to be achieved, generally but there are those, practitioners who dabble in this kind of pain for pleasure or a transcendental experience, who claim that this can become a conditioned response."

Hotch remained inscrutable throughout this litany but eventually, as Spencer began to devolve into a human textbook, he held up his hand and spoke,

"Spencer?"

"That's not what happened," Spencer's voice wavering and threatening to revert to the tears that he had tried to desperately to choke back. "I never went away. I remember everything, even through the drugs, I did my best to remain vigilant and thoughtful. I remember it all and it comes back without warning. I have nothing to show for it. I know this sounds callous, especially saying it to you, but all I have are memories as thick as any scar tissue…"

"What is it that you want, Reid?" Aaron's tone was even but ever so forceful – maybe being told to give up the information would relieve him of his guilt. Yet he was still unsure of what he would do with this confession once it had been heard.

"In the period between the two world wars a theatre called the Grand Guignol was one of the most popular in Europe. Guignol featured the most graphic and violent plays that had ever been produced up until that time. Paula Maxa, one of the most frequent female performers, and was known as the most assassinated woman in the world because she had been murdered 10,000 times in more than sixty different ways and raped on stage more than 3,000. They speculated that the popularity of the theatre for the performers and audience members was the catharsis. The brutality of everyday life could only pale in the face of this kind of violence and cruelty. In the overwhelming violence there was release."

Aaron leaned forward his brow furrowed with intensity, "It's a bit early for your annual Halloween theatre venture so Reid, I'll only ask you once more, why did you come here?"

"I want something to remember. I want something tangible. I want to bruise and bleed and I want to watch it heal and be done with it. I want to look up and see someone I trust and I don't want to be scared."

Hotch knew the last piece of information was coming but it still did not prepare him to hear it. That was the thing about profiling, so often it was intuitive but rarely did the why and the how come to you at once. He knew that Spencer wanted a fix of some kind. He just hadn't fully absorbed what role he would play in the scenario.

"And you came to me because of all of the others you thought that I would gain something from the experience? You think that I look in the mirror and see the likeness of someone who would have no problem making sure you had all of the scars and bruises that you think you deserve – that you need," he fought to keep the bitterness and anger from his voice, "You suspect that there may be a part of me that would gain satisfaction from giving you what you need."

Hotch's tone was less accusatory and more in the vein of putting words to what he thought Spencer was dancing about saying. He could tell that he had probably put too fine a point on it because no sooner had he finished speaking and looked into the young man's eyes then Spencer had taken to his feet.

"I shouldn't. I'm sorry." He said heading towards the door, wobbling a little, more from fear than from the alcohol, as he took each wide stride to the exit of Hotch's apartment.

Aaron was still unsure if this was part of the game, the lead in that Spencer needed to set the scene, but he took the opportunity nonetheless. Following quickly behind Spencer he grabbed him and forced him up against the entryway wall, hitting him hard enough to startle him but not enough to harm him.

Reid let out a gasp as the wind was knocked from him and the tears began to flow down his cheeks of their own accord.

"You have just admitted to me that you think I would take satisfaction in beating you – you should know better than to turn your back on me." Hotch growled, using his body to keep the young man upright as he grabbed a fist full of his hair and forced Spencer's tear-filled eyes to meet him.

Reid blinked back tears and stared into Hotch's eyes. He could feel the tingle of pain spreading throughout his scalp and resolve as something electric and pleasant as it melted down his spine.

As he continued to fight to regain his breathing Hotch leaned in to his ear, his warm breath sending another shot of electricity throughout his body, "Spencer, listen to me because I am not going to repeat this; I will allow you to beg, plead, cry, and say no. If you want this to stop I want you to say the word, 'red' and if you feel like I'm pushing you toward a panic attack or if we need to lighten things, 'yellow' is your word."

Spencer relished the closeness of the other man and tried to press their cheeks together, causing the grip on Reid's hair to strain. Before Reid could maintain the contact with Hotch's cheek Reid's head was jerked back in to position. Reid yelped and slowly nodded his head, trying not to lose what little contact remained.

Hotch tightened his grip on the younger man's hair and took a step back. Firmly holding Spencer's head in place, he raised his hand, and before Spencer could register what was happening, brought a firm open-handed blow to the young man's cheek, "Yes, sir." Hotch said, staring coldly at the younger man. He pulled Spencer's head back into place. "I want to hear it."

Before Reid could clear the ringing in his head, he spoke, his voice shaking uncontrollably, "Y-yes, sir."

In that broken small voice Hotch could hear his brother - the same sounds and the same deep angry male voice demanding respect. Hotch shook his head and Spencer flinched thinking he'd done something wrong. No, this was very different: Spencer had a way out and Hotch would stop, still the experience threatened to dance on his trigger points just as readily as it did for the shaking young man in front of him. Though in a way this felt good, he was so focused on the details of the scene that he had all but forgotten the previous day's events. He couldn't help but hear Foyet's words, "maybe this will change the way that you profile." Maybe it would change a lot more than that for both of them. But this was not the time for introspection; there was time enough for that in the rest of his life.

Hotch grabbed Spencer by the back of his shirt collar and shoved him back into the apartment.

"On your knees," He said applying a bruising pressure to Spencer's shoulders and dropping him to the floor, quickly snatching his cuffs of the counter and slapping them onto Spencer's wrists.

Aaron circled Spencer, examining his features, allowing him to wallow in the distress that he seemed to crave. For a moment Aaron allowed himself to deconstruct the situation – in his line of work this situation, someone at his feet in handcuffs, was not uncommon. Yet he would not get to exact the kind of pain that Spencer was bound for on those men. Spencer was not those men and he did not deserve the pain that he desired yet deserving was a concept, Hotch thought,that needed to be barred from his thoughts tonight. Spencer did not deserve what he wanted, and Hotch would not deserve the guilt he would feel upon the evening's conclusion, but they were both bound for it nonetheless.

Aaron looked down at the pale and shaken young man and grabbed his chin, forcing his eyes to meet his dark glare, "Do not move, do you understand me?"

Spencer closed his eyes and willed himself to push Aaron just a bit farther, he nodded in understanding and was not surprised when a resounding slap crossed his cheek making the space between his ears echo.

"Yes, Sir." Spencer flinched as he forced the words out of his mouth.

Hotch dropped his hand, strode around the young man a few more times, and then abruptly left the room.

Spencer closed his eyes and tried to maintain the position he had been placed in but as the moments seemed to stretch out longer and longer he couldn‟t resist the temptation to rest back on his heels. He could hear Hotch moving about the other rooms of the house; in the bedroom, kitchen, the bathroom and back. Reid fought the urge to try and understand what was going on out of his sight. He knew what he had asked for and he knew that in the end he could trust Aaron to give it to him. As he let out a sigh of resignation when he heard Aaron enter the room behind him.

Without a word, Hotch grabbed the link between Spencer's cuffs and pulled him to his feet. Spencer let out a high pitched gasp of surprise as he was moved by Aaron's momentum out of the living room.

Aaron shoved him toward the bedroom, following as Reid struggled to regain his footing and move forward all at once. As Spencer felt himself forced through the doorway of the bedroom his sight landed on the bedroom dresser.

The countertop of the dresser had been cleared off save for some strategically placed items; a large navy blue candle that had already been lit, the lighter that had been used to ignite it, Aaron's thin black belt, another set of cuffs, a black necktie, a large serrated kitchen knife, rubbing alcohol, a long feather, a straight razor, and Aaron's side arm.

The final item hit Reid harder than any blow could have and he quickly began to backpedal out of the room only to find himself pressed up against Hotch‟s chest. Spencer turned sharply, falling to the hard wood floor in the process, and began to scoot, with great determination, away from the older man. "Y-y-you can‟t do this. Y-you know what he did to me. W-Why is that there?"

Aaron remained silent as he crouched over the fearful Dr. Reid. Spencer shuffled back from him until he ran into the foot of the bed and the oak slats of the bed frame. Without explanation, Hotch flipped the young man onto his stomach, pinning his legs underneath him and unlocked the cuffs, then turned Spencer to face him, and secured his hands above his head and to the bed frame.

Hotch stood and walked toward the dresser to retrieve his first implement for the evening, the straight razor – a remnant of his childhood yet never the item that brought fear to his eyes. No, this had been passed on through his family along with the fondness for brutalizing the smaller members of the household with the strap that accompanied it. Until tonight, the razor had sat at the back of his medicine cabinet as a reminder of why he

went to work every day. Some of us grow up to catch the bad guys, he thought with a rueful shake of his head. He would soak in the guilt later, tonight was about giving Spencer what he wanted.

Aaron flicked open the razor blade and let his lips shift into a smile as he observed Spencer's very genuine reaction of fear Hotch brought the blade to Spencer's cheek and scrapped in a downward motion as if he were clearing invisible shaving cream from his face. He laughed as Spencer flinched again.

"So you want scars you can see. Should I start here?" Spencer stifled a cry as Hotch drug the tip end of the razor down Spencer's cheek hard enough to scratch him but nothing permanent…yet.

"Every time you look in the mirror to gel that new boyband hair of yours you can be reminded of the one time that you were tortured and bled yet loved every minute of it." Aaron did little to resist the urge to press himself against the younger man as he whispered this in his ear. Aaron gathered up another handful of Spencer's hair and took his free hand and drew a matching line down the other side of Spencer's cheek.

Spencer tried to draw away from Aaron by giving slack to his handcuffs and pulling up toward the head board.

Aaron began to unbutton Spencer's vest and the collared shirt underneath it and forced it down to Spencer's bound wrists. One look at the young man's unmarked chest brought back a flood of memories; the UnSub who enjoyed carving the hearts out of young women that he lured home using his young son as bait and of his own unmarked skin before that night that he lay helpless before Foyet.

Spencer watched through half-lidded eyes as Hotch's movements stilled and he seemed to retreat inward for a moment. Spencer knew where he was going and would have none of it. He could still feel the slap reverberating in the back of his mind but he knew that if he didn't act now the evening would end, both of them more angst-filled and frustrated than before it began.

"I knew you wouldn't do it," he said quietly at first, looking down at the razor in Aaron‟s hand. "I knew you wouldn't do it. Did he call you a coward too when he hit you with the strap that went with that?" Spencer knew it was probably an awful idea to goad Aaron but he couldn't let it end here.

Aaron‟s eyes snapped back at Spencer filled with sadness and then with rage. He grabbed the young man‟s face, hard enough to leave his fingerprints behind, "Care to repeat that?" He said holding the blade to the young man‟s throat.

Before Spencer could speak, Aaron had discarded the razor, and was holding his jaw firmly in place as he landed another blow to Spencer‟s cheek. As his eyes filled with tears, Aaron unlocked the cuffs and pulled Spencer to his feet.

"A coward?" Hotch said with a laugh in his voice. He pulled Spencer‟s vest and shirt from him and bent him over the bed after re-cuffing his hands in front of him. He flicked the razor closed and put it in his pants pocket and picked up the belt from the dresser.

"How many times-" Hotch unfurled the belt, "have I-" he doubled it over, "stood between you and the harm that was due to you?" Hotch cracked the belt once and watched as Spencer‟s body tensed – without warning he struck, the first blow landing squarely between Spencer‟s shoulders. Without giving him time to answer or recover he struck twice more in succession.

"Well?" He asked, his voice demanding – Spencer could almost see him behind his mahogany desk in the office and the idea of being bent over that desk made him squirm with arousal.

Hotch struck him again, this time harder than the first, this one raised up an angry welt instantaneously. "I asked you a question Reid and I expect an answer." Then another toe-curling blow just a hair away from the first angry red stripe.

"I-I don't know." Before Spencer could remember to finish his sentence properly Hotch struck him three more times, his shoulders began to take on a pinkish glow. There was something about the way the young man squirmed and whimpered that drew Aaron's mind away from the violence of the situation and deep into the eroticism of it. With each lick of the thin leather belt to Spencer's skin he smiled as Spencer pressed himself into

the mattress letting out a noise in between a helpless cry and moan.

Aaron focused on each blow to the younger man trying to maintain a steady rhythm with a growing level of intensity and force, each time hitting harder than the last. As the pain increased, and the sounds of his cries and the belt filled the room, Spencer began to squirm in earnest to escape the pain as his back and shoulders began to take on an angry red glow reminiscent of fresh meat.

"For someone-" he struck Spencer with his full strength behind it, Spencer let out a yell but Hotch continued to speak, "with an eidetic memory-" a lighter blow this time, "things seem to enter one part of your brain and exit just as quickly."

Hotch struck him several more times before continuing, "I know," he said with a tone of firm understanding, "it has to be written down, right? That is how I get through to you?" He struck him again repeatedly, then stopped, dropped the belt to the floor, and admired his work – Spencer's back was indeed the color of raw meat, with several errant welts rising quickly to the surface.

Hotch pulled at the link on Spencer's cuffs yanking the young man backward so that he landed, with force, up against Aaron's chest. Spencer yelped at the sudden impact and the roughness of Hotch's shirt on his raw back.

Aaron pulled Spencer toward the dresser so that Spencer could look into the mirror that hung atop it – given the height of the two men it gave an expansive view that stopped teasingly at the top of their belts. Spencer took in his appearance, hair matted with sweat but cleared from his eyes and chest pale with light definition. Behind him stood Aaron, still in what he had worn to the office but without the tie and jacket. Their bodies were no longer touching but Reid shifted self-consciously hoping that Aaron wouldn't notice his arousal. He knew Aaron would be gracious enough generally to chalk it up to adrenaline or fear. Yet he was uncertain of what this Aaron would do with the, uh um, development. To his relief, as Aaron examined their reflections he remained silent on the matter.

Hotch reached up to Spencer's hair, running his hand through it, clearing the stray pieces from the young man‟s tear-soaked face, and then sharply grabbing a handful and bringing Spencer's ear to meet his lips as he leaned forward. "Maybe if I write it down for you then you won't forget."

Aaron retrieved the straight-razor from his pocket and brought it to Spencer's neck. Spencer tried to breathe as shallowly as possible to avoid the contact of the razor to his throat but found it pressed there firmly all the same.

"The question is where will I write it?" Hotch said smiling at their reflection. Spencer's cheeks and lips were flushed red despite the fear.

Aaron let his wrist slacken and the razor moved slowly away from Spencer's throat and slowly traveled down his neck, teasingly across his collarbone until the tip came to rest at the sensitive piece of flesh just underneath Spencer's very prominent collarbone.

Without warning Hotch pressed the end of the razor down firmly drawing a short diagonal line from just below Spencer's collarbone. The blood rose up from the cut instantly and Spencer watched their reflection transfixed by Hotch's large but dexterous hand as it carved out the first two lines of a primitive 'S' on his skin.

The slow and steady pain with each line that followed lulled Spencer into an intoxicated haze as his sight dulled in focus and he felt his body leaning back onto Hotch. Hotch's other hand still tightly entwined with his hair and holding his head upright. The twinge of pain that Spencer felt when he surrendered and allow Hotch to hold his head in place as his focus softened. As Spencer's eyelids threatened to close on the enthralling view of blood running languidly down his chest and Hotch's eyes narrowing as he fought to keep his hand steady and complete the final letter on Spencer's chest an 'R.'

Spencer could feel himself losing his hold on the world around him, not passing out or fainting but becoming supremely calm as each cut, each dose of pain served to drive him even further from himself. He was so completely in the moment yet couldn't be

any further removed as Hotch completed the last letter and then grinned fiendishly as he went to underline the word, Spencer could feel his knees giving out.

"Aaron," he gasped as he could no longer maintain control of his legs and they gave out beneath him.

Hotch dropped the razor to the floor and in an instance Spencer was in his arms as if he had been a swooning maiden and Aaron his valorous knight. Yet for the life of him he couldn‟t recall a single Arthurian legend when the maiden was carved up by her beloved. Beloved. In his adrenal-drunken haze that was a word that seemed to swirl about his brain as Hotch place him gently on the bed.

Hotch climbed onto the bed after him and again gathered his hair in his hand forcing Spencer to look into his eyes. This time he allowed their cheeks to press together tightly as he whispered in the young man's ear, "Do you want me to stop, Reid?" Hotch's tone was a serious and formal one that despite its intent only played at the periphery of Spencer's consciousness.

Spencer let out a long sight and let his face rest upon the older man's cheek enjoying the strain that it put on his hair and how it seemed to keep him in this new distant state.

"Answer me, Reid!" Hotch demanded sounding more and more like his Unit Chief self.

"Please. Please keep going, sir." Reid tried to force out in a longing plea but came out more as a strained whisper.

"Good boy." Hotch said as he quickly separated from their intimate contact and stood up from the bed.

Hotch gathered up the necessary tools to complete what he had in mind for the night and laid them on the bed out of Spencer's view. Again he doubled the belt over in his hands and struck it forcefully across Spencer's already welted back.

Spencer was lost in the sheer bliss of the sensation. For once it felt so good to be out of control, allowed to cry out the instant he felt pain, and to know that he was completely safe even as he was immersed in pain. The first strike of the belt was jarring and difficult to take but with the second one he could feel the pain entering his skin and then spread throughout his body as a warm electricity traveling all the way to the tips of his toes like the sweet and fleeting pain of the first penetration. The effect that these sensations had on him were similar as well and he worried for a moment what Aaron would think if he were to turn him over and discover his rejuvenated arousal.

Spencer was both relieved and incredibly nervous when he felt the older man‟s weight transfer onto the bed and come to settle on the lower half of his body as Hotch straddled him.

The sterile smell of alcohol hit Spencer's senses first and then a cold and wet sensation on his back. He shivered as a few stray drops made their way onto the new and angry welts. Spencer let out a small whine as the burn tingled through his back and he pushed forward on the mattress trying to absorb the pain, move away from the burn of the alcohol, and to ease the uncomfortable tightness in his slacks.

Aaron smiled as he felt the younger man shift beneath him. Without much consideration, Aaron slapped Spencer's reddened shoulder blades sharply several times to draw his attention to the man above him.

"Ow! Please, please Sir, don't."

"I see the genius‟ learning is also enhanced by threats," Aaron placed one hand on the mattress and leaned down to Spencer's ear.

"It's not like you‟ll be able to read this one anyhow." He used his free hand to flick open the razor blade that he had placed in his slacks pocket.

Hotch let the cool steel blade run along Spencer's cheek and put forth an concerted effort to frown as Spencer's eyes widened and his hips bucked forward.

"Please no, sir. No more," He whined, "Please don't do this."

Aaron ignored his pleas and pressed the blade down on Spencer's back tentatively tracing the red line made earlier by his belt.

Spencer took in a deep breath and his cries ceased to become audible as Aaron made the second pass at his mark. This time instead of an angry red scratch Spencer‟s pale skin gave way and allowed a tentative red drool of blood to run down Spencer's back.

Aaron fought the associations that came with this site. It was difficult to eroticize something that had become so taboo and yet so over-exposed to him. Though after the seventh and eighth pass over Spencer's marred and welted skin the young man beneath him had stilled completely. Spencer's moans and whimpers had dissipated until all that was left were the faint rustling from the sheets as Hotch moved to adjust himself so that he could reach his entire canvass of Spencer's back.

After the steady impact of the belt, Spencer felt like his entire sense of the world was centered on his back – his arousal, turmoil, and sadness were all centered in the angry red, welted streaks along his shoulder blades and back. The first cut had shocked him but he had imagined this situation so often that is was wonderful to experience something that was just as pure, anguishing, and arousing as his fantasy. As each shock of pain hit him, as his skin was split with Aaron's razor, he felt a strange pull in his chest. Slowly his finger and toes began to tingle and then go numb, the disappearance of sensation traveled up his arms and legs until it centered in that strange pull at the center of his chest. Spencer was finding it harder to breathe.

It took an immense amount of effort to move his lips to form his word, "Help me," he tried to force it out but it came out no louder than a whisper.

Aaron continued to cut until his hands were stained and Spencer‟s back was streaked and sticky with blood. Hotch could feel Spencer's vacancy. Maintaining his role he issued a few sharp blows to Spencer's freshly cut back and was stunned when this issued no more than a vague moan from the young man.

Hotch turned Spencer onto his back, not caring about the blood that would surely streak his sheets once the scene had ended. Spencer's eyes were open wide with fear but his entire body had gone limp and pliant to his touch as Hotch brutally ran his nails down the young man's chest.

"Help me, Sir." Spencer whispered again. Hotch could see his mouth move but did not hear a sound escape. He leaned closer, grabbing a handful of the young man's hair, "What did you say, Reid? Should I write it somewhere else for you?"

Spencer wondered when he would lose consciousness but that moment never came but as Hotch made the first cut on the young man‟s chest he felt himself falling deeper into his haze. He was caught in that dream where you find yourself stepping of a curb but the street is not beneath your feet and you begin falling into oblivion. Oblivion yawned out in front of Spencer as he fell in head long with each cut Hotch made to his skin. This was better than any drug-induced euphoria – he was keenly aware of everything going on around him but so gloriously separate from it all.

He watched from a distance as Hotch made the cuts to his chest, writing out „Sir‟ along the side of his ribcage – deep enough so that it would leave the scars that Spencer desired.

Spencer watched removed and curious as Hotch self-consciously brought the blade to his lips and licked some of the red fluid from it – no doubt to satisfy a curiosity. Spencer fought to regain his bearings as Hotch approached him with a candle from the dresser, dribbling the melted wax onto his hand and then allowing it to cascade slowly onto the fresh wounds that he had created on the young man.

Spencer knew the science behind why he could barely care to feel the hot wax hitting his skin and why it only sent him deeper into the euphoria. Yet in the fog he could care less to conjure up the names of the chemicals that he had begged Hotch so tearfully to unleash in him. The older man was hovering above him now with that large serrated kitchen knife and in this state of mind Spencer did not find it hard to look unblinking into the Aaron's eyes. Those dark concerned circles held him into reality they were his escape, his entrance back into the present, to safety.

Hotch brought the larger knife down onto Spencer's skin but instead of make more angry red lines he used it to sheer off the blue wax that had spattered onto Spencer's skin. Underneath the blue were more angry red marks from the heat of the wax.

When all of the wax had been cleared from Spencer's skin, Hotch dropped the knife off the bed and crawled up Spencer's still form until they were face to face. Even though Spencer felt himself floating above his body he could feel the warm comforting weight of the older man, his arousal pressing into the younger man's thigh and Spencer's own erection straining back against him in kind. "Please," Spencer was able to gasp out, "please, Sir."

Hotch grasped the young man's hair again and brought his lips just a breath away from Spencer's lips.

"Still not satisfied?" He said with a hit of amusement in his voice.

"Please, Sir," he whimpered again.

"What do you want?" Hotch said pulling back to look into Spencer's eyes, using his leverage to place the younger man's head in a position of strained submission – head back and gazing up at him, held tightly by his hair.

"Hit me again, Sir. Please. Do it again and don‟t stop," Spencer begged as he could feel himself caught somewhere in between reality and drifting above the entire scene.

Hotch leaned to one side, moving his weight from Spencer and without giving them either a moment to question the situation he delivered a resounding slap to Spencer's cheek. The ringing barely had time to subside when Spencer felt himself fall into he moment as his head began to ache and feel as heavy as a stone. A second slap and the tears that had ceased to flow during the scene sprang back to life yet devoid of the anguish he had felt earlier that night. A third and final slap and Spencer was ripped from the last of his haze and all at once he could feel the burns from the wax, the cuts from the razor, and the bruising that was surely there from the belt against his back.

Hotch never broke eye contact and he could see the change in Spencer's face as he seemed to come back into the moment.

In a wet gasp Spencer spoke his first words loud and clear,

"Thank you, Sir."

Hotch's grip on the young man's hair softened and he gathered his face into his hands and kissed him as he felt the scene slip away from them both. Spencer gasped with shock and surprise, never expecting this development no matter how much he had hoped for it. He expected to make a rebuffed advance and get a lecture on transference on the ride back to his apartment but not this.

As Aaron held Spencer deep in the kiss he fumbled for the keys in his other pocket and unlocked Spencer's cuffs that still held his hands at his waist. Immediately Spencer wrapped his arms around the older man in a firm and loving embrace.

Aaron looked into his eyes, "Are you sure, Spencer?"

After everything that Aaron had done to him the evening those words hit him the hardest and his bottom lip began to tremble. Aaron rolled off of him and backed away. "I'm sorry, Reid."

Spencer reached out quickly and grabbed a handful of Aaron's shirt before he could move out of reach.

"I didn't think you would want me not…not after what I asked you to do to me…after the addiction – things I said – what I accused you of wanting but not admitting to." Aaron watch Spencer critically as he spoke, taking in his dilated pupils, how his teeth were beginning to chatter, and the involuntary shivers that seemed to run through him at random moments.

"I'm going to leave for a second but I will be right back."

When Aaron returned he was clutching a glass of orange juice which he politely handed to Reid who had shifted to a sitting position against the headboard of the bed with a pillow cushioning his back.

"Drink it as quickly as you feel that you can. You went into shock and you'll need this for your blood sugar."

Spencer smiled and finished the glass the best he could and set in Hotch's nightstand. He didn't have the energy or desire at that moment to correct him on what he had just witnessed but shock was close enough. Instead, Reid just stared at him not knowing what to say - a rarity – Spencer Reid was speechless.

Hotch walked over to the bed and sat down next to Reid. Without hesitation, Spencer leaned forward and wrapped his arms around the older man. Reid nuzzled Hotch's neck as the older man remained stoic.

"This isn't transference. I wanted you to do more than you did when you were leaning over me. I could barely speak. I felt like I was falling and I kept asking you to help me,"

Aaron pressed his cheek to the young man's head, "I couldn't hear you. Did you want me to stop?"

Reid tightened his grip on the older man. "No, you did everything that I wanted you to. It's just," Reid took in a shaky breath, "when I was using, when you had me in that deep euphoria, I would think about," he cleared his throat and closed his eyes, "I wanted someone to be intimate with – to be close with someone while I was so far away. It was the only time that my mind was truly quiet - that's what I miss about it."

"And I was worried that you would feel used," Hotch quipped as he held onto the younger man.

Reid let out a deep sigh and moved as close as he possibly could to the older man as he laid tentative and light kisses along the older man's neck.

"Reid, I don't know how much will happen tonight but I do want you to stay if you're alright with that?"

Reid moved forward and climbed onto Hotch's lap and began kissing him in earnest. When he pulled back to catch his breath he spoke,

"I don't want to go home. I was hoping you would ask. I don't have to stay in here if you want to take it slowly," said moving his hips so that their cloth-covered arousals grazed each other. "I can move out to the couch now if you'd like," Spencer whispered nipping at Aaron's ear.

Hotch hooked his fingers in Spencer's belt loops. "Do I have to handcuff you again?" He said doing his best to bring that trademark threatening tone to his voice.

"As you wish, Sir."


	2. Let There Be Light

**A/N: Hello All! Thanks for stopping by to see what I've done to take, what was going to be a one-shot, and potentially turn it into a little bit of a multi-chapter story. This story will very soon contain: graphic violence, sex, and possibly, language. If you made it through the first part of this you'll be just fine, I am sure. This is bound to be very angsty, sexy, bloody, and a whole lot of fun…or at least I hope so. If at anytime I, or you, dear readers, feel that I have gone AU-crackfic-crazy, I reserve the right to delete the adjoining chapters and revert this story back to a completed one-shot. So far, I have the next two chapters in the works so it's looking promising. Also, regarding updates, I am now gainfully employed full-time so that means writing will not be nearly as consistent as it was for say, 'Bait.' If that bothers you I suggest you wait until I get a few chapters ahead. That's about all I can think of to say or warn you about. Again, just as a courtesy to me, if you do find something wrong/offensive/erroneous/or 'off', please give me the chance to correct it or for us to resolve it before involving other parties. Take that as you will and please enjoy the following work. **

* * *

><p>The feeling of warm exposed skin jolted Spencer awake. He'd been turning in his sleep trying to find a comfortable place to settle where he wouldn't be aggravating the cuts, welts, or bruises on his skin. Spencer turned aware of the sleeping presence next to him. He sat up slowly, waiting for Aaron to stir. When Aaron Hotchner remained asleep, Spencer set his feet to the cold hardwood floor and walked toward the doorway and out into the hall bathroom. Spencer rationalized it as not wanting to wake Hotch but in truth he didn't want to be caught at what was really on his mind.<p>

Spencer entered the bathroom without turning on the light, closed the door but did not lock or shut it tightly behind him. He closed his eyes tightly and flicked the light on, slowly he opened his eyes all the while preparing himself see to his reflection. He was bracing himself for the wave of panic to overtake him. It didn't take the power that his memory held to have the image of himself, fresh from Marshall Parrish, readily at hand. The old memories didn't overwhelm him once caught sight of himself in the mirror.

The first thing that he focused on was the space just below his collarbone and the deep scratches that had stopped bleeding and were now beginning to scab over. The dried blood made it difficult to decipher – he imagined one of his colleagues taking in the sight and trying to figure out the evidence littered all over his lithe form – he knew what it said though. He smiled, fascinated, and ran his fingers over the wound. As his right hand caressed the dried blood on his chest his eyes caught sight of the marred flesh on his forearm – deep black and blue finger prints that wrapped all the way around his arm with the thumb dead center of the inside of his arm.

Spencer toyed with the flecks of dried blood on his chest while staring intently at the bruise on the inside of his forearm. The wound would be covered easily by a suit jacket or long-sleeved shirt. Reid had been afraid of the involuntary recall of those old painful memories but instead he heard Aaron Hotchner's threatening tone in his ear, the feel of the firm mattress beneath him as he squirmed, rubbed, and did anything else that might help relieve his arousal, and the cool blade of the razor.

Spencer shivered at the memory of the straight-razor running down his back, the clean feeling as it cut through his skin, the burning sting that sent a white-hot jolt through his entire body. Spencer turned and angled the mirror on the medicine cabinet so he could still see his reflection with his back to the mirror. The feeling of distance and cool fixation washed over him, a small remnant of the peace he had felt so many hours ago. A weak smile graced his lips as he took it all in; the black and blue marks that stopped and started in elongated strokes, the cuts that acted as dried reddened highlights, and the handprints, bruises, and other marks, all seen from a different perspective.

It was the first time that Spencer had looked at a body in such a state and not felt overwhelmed with sadness and regret for not being able to intervene, prevent, or admittedly, to save.

Spencer was lost in the moment; his mind re-playing the events of the night slowly as his eyes went over each bruise, each cut, with loving detail. With the amount of endorphins and dopamine still running through his genius brain, Reid could not manage the sadness that he knew was inevitable. Whatever that was that had Hotch wrapping his hands around Reid, pulling him to bed, and begging to say; that would fade much faster than these reminders of the night.

Reid tried to think back to his words with Aaron after the… – Reid snickered to himself as he found himself thinking in the practitioners lingo – the 'scene' had come to an end. He knew he wanted Aaron. He could remember begging for Aaron as he slipped from his own body into that peaceful remoteness. Aaron had been kind to him afterwards. Reid had decided upon Hotch because he knew that he would care for him when Reid was physically unable to do so for himself. Aaron may mask it well with his inscrutable demeanor and daunting presence but everything about him led to the conclusion that he was a caregiver at heart. As the father, leader, provider, and sage; he'd made a few missteps and he tortured himself endlessly for it. Aaron Hotcher was not the kind of man to neglect responsibility.

It was all of these reasons and more that Reid ruefully chalked all of their physical intimacy up to some sort of transference, guilt, regret, or obligation…or maybe all of the above. Reid knew he couldn't expect….well, an of it, really. The marks Spencer craved would fade in a few weeks time, longer if he withheld or neglected certain vitamins and minerals. He and Hotch would resume they're well-defined roles at work and at home….well, at home wouldn't matter anymore than it had before. Reid would continue to take his grievances to the sympathetic JJ and Hotch…well, Hotch would be Hotch. His home-life, now that there wasn't a psychotic killer after him, would cease to be a concern of anyone at the Bureau…that included Reid, right?

Reid still stared down at his wrist, lost in thought and still caught by how easily accessible that detached state of being seemed to him, especially when he re-applied stress to his wounds.

Maybe it was the need for more sleep but Reid fought the urge to let his eyes roll back into his head and slip right back into that distant state of being. In Reid's mind's-eye he could see those moments playing out differently; Hotch wouldn't have kept his distance. He could have taken Reid completely unprepared, Reid thought, and the pain wouldn't have hit him until now. He could have lived with that considering the chances that it would ever happen again, gentle or rough, were ridiculously miniscule.

Another thing Reid knew for certain was that he could not mention this to anyone; telling his sponsor would only cause him unnecessary grief in justifying his actions as not those of an addict seeking yet another fix, obviously his coworkers had to remain in the dark, JJ and Morgan especially, but he laughed to himself when he considered that Garcia might be the one encouraging one of the bunch – the idea of her booking them the next flight to her hometown for the infamous September street faire was almost too much to take. Reid stifled his more earnest laughter for fear of waking Hotch. Reid knew if he could work himself around to laughter that it probably wasn't too soon to consider his departure either.

When Reid had returned to the bedroom, he looked onto Hotch's sleeping form with tinge of regret. Reid wished that he had the confidence, the misguided belief, that the guilt that Hotch felt for giving into Reid's request was somehow transferrable to an actual romantic relationship – not going to happen.

Reid gathered what he could without making too much noise and prepared to leave the apartment. Sure, he'd forgotten a few things but they weren't unique enough that they couldn't be replaced of made do without.

Reid looked down at his wrist before covering it and buttoning his cuff. That dark thumb print would fade but for now it was nice to imagine that Hotch still had him in his grasp.

#-#-#-#-#-#

6 AM came all too quickly in Dr. Spencer Reid's opinion. The added time it took to shower and dress given his state of exhaustion, and navigating and covering the bruises, had Reid already running late to catch his usual train into the city.

Once Reid had arrived at the office it was even worse; he was dropping things left and right, his badge didn't want to scan, and there was an inexplicable metal object that sent him through the metal detector and several wand-scans before he was allowed to continue to his ultimate destination – the coffee kiosk.

Thankfully, the transaction for the much-needed caffeine went smoothly. The coffee, for once, was perfect. Usually he resorted to making his own from the office kitchen but today he couldn't be bothered. As Reid felt himself get swept up in the tension of what was starting out to be a banner day, he paused and looked down at the cup holding his coffee, the hand, and more importantly the arm holding his coffee. The arm that had Hotch's deep purple thumbprint pressed into it. Reid took a deep breath as he fixated on the spot. He might as well have been naked for the level of self-consciousness he felt over his souvenirs from that evening. He tried to keep the dull ache he felt throughout his body out of his gait but it seemed impossible.

Just then Reid encountered a whole new complication to his day; up walked Derek Morgan and Aaron Hotcher engaged in light conversation and headed in his direction. Reid tried to keep his distance ahead of them but Morgan gained on him quickly, "What, Pretty Boy? No 'good morning'? Not even some long piece of useless information to share that you learned over our all-too-short time off?"

Reid fought the urge to scream when Morgan slung his arm heavily onto Reid's shoulders. Morgan felt him bristle under his touch, "Ah! Someone had a good night. Hot girl? _Hot boy?_ Jury still out on that one, Reid?"

Reid turned to glare at Morgan as he continued in the direction that Morgan was now guiding him, through the glass door that lead to their workspaces. Before he and Morgan got any closer to their desks, and the ears of their coworkers, Reid mumbled just loud enough for Morgan to hear, "Why are you so drawn to the term 'pretty 'and why are you so fixated on my hidden sexual orientation…I do not think you'd need to be in the BAU to wonder if maybe there is something Derek Morgan wants to reveal?"

Morgan 's face went from a playfully triumphant smile to a look of shock and possible embarrassment. Reid smiled to himself as Morgan quickly removed his arm and stalked back to his desk, still searching for a good retort. _It doesn't get much more intimidating than goading an already emotional, and armed, Aaron Hotchner, Reid thought._ _Morgan's little playful jabs and mocking needed to stop and putting Derek Morgan in his place was the least daunting thing he'd could think of._

Hotch had observed Reid and Morgan's exchange from a distance. Aaron had been picking at himself since he awakened and found Reid gone; what could he have done differently? Did Reid hate him now? Would Reid request a transfer? Would Reid avoid him entirely? Would Reid ask him to do that again?

The last idea Hotch knew he had to chalk up to fantasy, wild ridiculous never-gonna-happen kind of fantasy. Hotch wished he could say that he'd never considered what Reid had asked of him, he desperately wanted to say that seeing Reid laying in his bed, beaten, tear-stained, and overwhelmed with arousal from it all, was a lot less of an appealing idea than it actually was.

It should have come as no surprise to Hotch that Reid's analysis during their time together was spot on. Well, the bit about his father had been a bit over-blown but not by much. Reid had not been off-center one bit about seeing himself slipping into that role. Aaron could never, would never, raise a hand to Jack and that was something he never doubted about himself but the reality was that keeping his temper and mood in check was a constant battle at work and Reid was more-often-than-not the one who put Hotch's control to the test.

As Hotch settled behind his desk and put his paperwork to rights, he allowed his mind to entertain the possibilities of Reid's consent the other night. For just a moment, Hotch let his mind to drift back to the reddened and struggling Reid, handcuffed and secured, on his bed. He should have drug it out some. He should have tested Reid, to have seen how far Hotch could transgress before the genius would put an end to things.

Aaron was ripped from his thoughts when he saw Morgan sling a casual arm around Reid's shoulder. Simultaneously, while in a state of abject panic, Hotch attempted to talk himself out of the idea that maybe some of that panic was masking jealousy at someone, anyone, being that close to Reid. Aaron's mind could barely get that sentence to its conclusion before another voice interrupted, chastising Hotch, _'don't be ridiculous, Reid's body is like your own tell-tale heart, the reminder that only you can see but feel that everyone must be aware of. Besides, no way you'd ever be jealous of Morgan._' Nonetheless, Aaron felt his stomach lurch when he watched Reid turn to Morgan, his face pensive with annoyance, and then there it was-the look – the look that Spencer had fixed on him when Hotch had hesitated, hovering over Reid with that straight-razor.

Aaron berated himself for not considering the situation more fulsomely when they'd first discussed the subject. Yes, sure. It was true that the discussion was more foreplay and boundary setting than the questioning of it actually being done. At least looking back on the situation, it seemed more like an eventuality than anything up for debate. He could see Reid kneeling at his feet, reeling from the blow he'd just dealt him, and then to see him sitting down there, at his desk, flesh and blood; flesh that Aaron had marked in many varieties guaranteed to leave a lasting mark, and blood, the blood that still stained his sheets and that he'd washed from under his nails this morning. Yet there he was, Spencer Reid, just a few hundred feet away, and nothing….there was nothing.

#-#-#-#-#-#-#

"'Spence," A soft hand rubbed at Dr. Reid's back. Reid bristled but tried to mask his pain by plastering his face with his best impression of earnest readiness. "'Spence, are you okay?"

"Is there something you wanted to ask me?" Reid sighed when it came out more tersely than he had intended.

"Yes, sorry," JJ did her best at feigning the banishment of concern from her face, "Did you get a chance to look at those maps I'd sent you before we left on the last case."

Reid nodded. He hadn't even remembered that he had maps to review or a possible consultation or geographic profile or whatever this was going to be.

"Great! Thank you so much. I have a meeting with Hotch at ten, can I pull you into this meeting to share some of your ideas? Hotch isn't too keen on allocating physical resources to this case and I think what you'd have to say, with your expertise," JJ handed Reid, what he assumed was, printouts from the files JJ had emailed him a week ago, that he'd never reviewed before getting on the jet.

Reid interrupted, "JJ, I don't think I can…"

But JJ wouldn't let him even begin to back out of it. "Spence, please. I know that geographic profiling is more of your area of expertise but take a look at them again. I really think that, if what I'm seeing is correct, that we've got a really strong probability of success." JJ smiled sweetly at Reid, "Will you please consider coming to the meeting?"

Before Reid could reply JJ began to convince him again, "You know, Hotch really values your opinion, and more than that, if I am really seeing what I think I am; we'll be done, back home, and maybe even have a few days to ourselves." JJ returned her hand to Reid's shoulder, rubbing softly as she lowered her voice and spoke empathetically, "I know the last case is still bothering you. I can't get it out of my mind either."

Reid stood abruptly, his dress-shirt on his skin felt like sandpaper and somehow JJ was hitting all the points he hoped and prayed that she would avoid. He should have been a veritable dictionary of polite, firm, stern, sweet, and, most importantly, compelling words that would have gotten him out of the situation he was about to be thrust into. He should have been but he was no were near close enough to persuade JJ to send in someone else. Anyone else could deliver this information to Hotch. He should have used the angle that it was above his pay-grade. Technically, oh so very technically, Morgan was the one that should negotiate such high-level decisions. Surely, Morgan would be a better fit for the job. The idea of Hotch giving the verbal equivalent of what Reid had received not so long ago made Reid smile, especially after Morgan's treatment this morning.

Reid straightened his shirt, shifted his weight deliberately from foot to foot, and then looked into JJ's troubled visage, "Knee cramp thing - I've been getting them lately." Reid smiled and then sat back down to his work, shifting all of his apparent focus to the various pieces of information JJ had laid out on his desk. JJ smiled, thanked Reid, and headed off in the direction for her own desk for her end of the preparations.


	3. The Sweetness of the Forbidden

**A/N: All standard warnings apply. Kids, don't try this at home….unless you've done the proper reading, negotiating, are prepared, and drug-free. Seriously though, be well and happy reading.**

Reid was thankful that the time passed peacefully. Reid had resigned himself to give up on the idea of maneuvering himself out of the situation and instead just to manage to stay upright, or better yet, in the room the entire time during the meeting.

"Don't be nervous, Reid." JJ said as she placed a hand on Reid's 'tense' shoulder. "It'll go fine."

JJ knocked on the door with her other hand and when Hotch responded with a terse, "Come in," Reid was happy that JJ had moved her offending hand and had not felt him jump at the sound.

#-#-#-#-#-#

JJ entered Hotch's office first, a blonde energetic light that almost served to obscure the figure following closely behind her. Hotch hoped that the drop he felt in his stomach and the hammering in his chest was not evident by the expression on his face. There stood Reid; stripped of his clothes and cloaked instead in a myriad of bruises, bites, and scratches.

Actually, Reid was attired in nearly the same clothes that he'd worn to Hotch's apartment that night. Aaron wanted to attach some sort of significance to the choice but he knew Reid's wardrobe, all though becoming better-fitting, was still scant and repetitive. Hotch entertained the idea of concluding the meeting early, holding Reid back, and aski-…no, telling Reid, to remove his tie so he could open the first two buttons of his collar to catch a glimpse of his handiwork.

JJ and Reid took their respective seats and JJ launched into her proposal immediately. Hotch caught a few words; 'brief', 'inter-agency reimbursable agreement', 'cost-benefit analysis', and a blur of other bureaucratic terms that he knew were there more for Aaron's benefit when it was his turn to impress his superiors.

Hotch's focus was not-so-subtly focused on Reid for most of the meeting. He successful suppressed the grin that threatened to spread across his face when Reid began to speak. Aaron knew that tone well. Reid was taking every ounce of strength in his lithe frame to force out his words without a hint of a shiver or stammer. Hotch had seen this before, in the professional realm, but what it brought to mind was anything but manila file folders and mahogany desks.

_As much as need had demanded that he take Reid right then and there he knew that they both needed something in their empty stomachs, something other than alcohol. Hotch had ordered in Chinese food at Reid's request and somewhere between Reid's nervous fidgeting and the egg-drop soup that ended up more on Reid's chin that in his mouth – Reid's clumsy nervousness was very endearing – the food was abandoned. _

_As Aaron looked Spencer over, kissing and toying with the new wounds, Reid would close his eyes still enjoying the remnants of that far off place he'd found himself in just hours before. Aaron was content to caress and lavish Spencer with gentle attention until the young man drifted into a sated sleep._

_Hours later it had happened as if more on instinct or habit rather than true decisiveness. True, it had been some time since Aaron had shared a bed with someone but the feeling of that warm presence next to him... It had happened without thought or planning… resting a strong arm around the sleeping young man and pulling him closer. Reid's eyes remained closed as he let out a soft sigh and moved into Aaron until their bodies were melted together in a twilight haze of sleep. _

_Spencer turned languidly in Aaron's arms and as soon as he could feel Aaron's warm breath on his cheek, he stretched urgently forward to capture his lips in a feverish kiss. Aaron kept his eyes closed, afraid that if he opened them that he'd find himself in his bed, turning over to find the other side cold and unoccupied. Spencer moaned into the kiss and wrapped his free arm around Aaron's body and clung to him, nails pressing into the older man's back._

_Aaron kept his eyes closed even as he pulled Spencer close, feeling tremors of desire shiver through him as Spencer complied with the pressure of Aaron's lips and parted his mouth and allowed him in. As Aaron pressed closer, Spencer pulled away teasingly. Instead of leaving Aaron behind, Spencer used his grip on Aaron to pull him with him. It didn't take much pressure for Aaron to understand that Spencer wanted to be under him again – Spencer was demanding, insistent, and desperately wanton._

_When Aaron opened his eyes he found Spencer already gazing up at him with that same curiously obedient look on his face. Aaron hovered over Spencer, using his free hand to caress the side of the young man's face that just hours ago he'd struck repeatedly to bring him back from wherever his mind had wandered. This wasn't the time for that though, Aaron reminded himself, this time was for enjoying Spencer's new headspace. Spencer ran his hands along the older man's body, caressing, exploring, and teasing places that had Aaron struggling to maintain his dominant position over Reid._

_Aaron was nowhere near as confident as Reid appeared to be. Yet each time Hotch would balk in mirroring Reid's ministrations, Spencer would place his hand on top of Aaron's, arching his body up toward the other man, whispering and sending his moist, warm breath cascading over Aaron's ear, "Please sir, please." _

_As Reid's insistence increased Hotch's experience began to feel extremely inadequate. When Reid suddenly pushed Aaron away from him, Hotch immediately pulled away. But quickly looked at Reid with eyes full of astonishment when the younger man kept the pressure following through until the tables were turned and he was now over Hotch. _

_Spencer's attention had grown confident and in turn, torturously slow. Spencer licked, sucked, and caressed the man underneath him all the while recounting his favorite memories, and matching mark, from the evening past. Spencer continued this tactic – teasing Aaron with hushed whispers as Spencer's hands led him slowly closer to the edge and then seemed to drift to anywhere but where he wanted them. Aaron had momentarily forgotten himself, allowing himself to writhe a few times under Reid's teasing fingertips, before he fixed Reid with that look that would, in normal circumstances, have him frozen in place._

_That couldn't have been a smirk? Aaron thought, his brow darkening even further. _

_Reid's smirk had grown into an impish grin as Hotch appeared to grow angrier and more frustrated with Reid. Before Reid gave into laughter he ran a slow firm caress over the older man. Aaron tried to suppress his cry of frustrated satisfaction but instead released a noise that sounded, very much to Reid's ears, like a low growl. That growl was quickly answered by a yelp of surprise from Reid. The haze of sleep was forgotten as Aaron firmly clasped Spencer's wrists in his hands and pressed him back into the mattress; grinding and rolling their hips together until each man came to a breathless release. _

_As the burn of release dimmed to a warm glow, Aaron fought the urge to fall into sleep and back into old habits. However, Aaron had become accustomed to the limited time he had with his loved ones so instead of breaking contact with Spencer, he pulled him close as their breath slowed and sleep beckoned them away again._

_When Aaron had awakened to the rude cries of the alarm clock he was greeted with a disheartening sight; Spencer was gone, the space he had occupied was now cold. In fact, if it hadn't been for the remnants of night still sitting on his dresser, Aaron would have thought it had all been a dream. _

Yet there was nothing dreamy or fantastical about the current moment in time. Hotch's desk was once again strewn with crime scene photographs, maps, and the formal request from the local police. JJ had paused and turned to look at Reid who was feigning fixation with a duplicate of the map that Hotch now held in his hand. Reid took a deep breath and launched into the spiel that he knew JJ had been hoping for.

Yes. Yes, it was conclusive. They would be leaving yet again and any awkward reminder of last night would have to fade away a lot faster than the marks lining Reid's body. 

Hotch nodded. "JJ, please gather the others and brief them on the new assignment. Let's be on our way in ninety minutes." Hotch stood at those last words and began walking both of them to his office door. He wanted to extend his arm and grip Reid's shoulder right where he knew the strap had wrapped around and left small blisters. He wanted to see if it really was as bad as the memory frozen in the front of his thoughts. He wanted to make sure Reid was caring for the wounds the way he needed to and to look him over once again and see that sweet and readily suffering look of obedience on his face. He wanted to grabbed down on that shoulder and squeeze, to share a little of the pain he'd felt this morning upon awakening to an empty apartment.

The last sentiment alarmed Hotch. He could block out work when he was at home, that was easy, but blocking out the nagging voices that tore at him for his desires while his feet were firmly planted in the offices of the BAU. He could hear in his mind a mingling of his colleagues' voices calling out terminology set to stifle his feelings and make Hotch reconsider that maybe he had opened the a door that could never be closed again, a Pandora's box of violent emotion fueled and fed by a target that lusted for the end result to be directed squarely at him.

Hotch kept his hands at his sides; balling one hand into a fist as he watched Spencer walk past him and head in the direction the conference room without a word or look of acknowledgement.

#-#-#-#-#-#

JJ's inferences had been correct. It took the team a solid eight hour work day for things to fall into place and a suspect to be apprehended. The interview would take place tomorrow and if the District Attorney decided to pursue a lesser charge for more information the BAU had to be poised to provide a plan of attack for the interrogation.

Garcia had tried to secure rooms for all of the members of the team in one location but given the layout of the town and the inexplicably massive family reunion taking place the 'newer' hotel - the team's only option was to split up. JJ, Hotch, Reid, and Prentiss stayed in the older and more rural hotel that was, conveniently enough, nearer to the police station. Morgan, Rossi, and Garcia set up shop in the newer hotel and began work on the paperwork and information that they would have to leave with the station captain and lead detective upon their departure.

#-#-#-#-#-#

When Reid opened the door to his hotel room he felt a shiver run through him as thoughts from the last case seemed to flood him (along with the smell of musty tapestry-style comforters). This time, they had arrived just in time and the UnSub had been none the wiser to their arrival. The victim had been spared any major trauma (other than her abduction) and looked to make a full recovery from her otherwise superficial, scrapes and bruises. Always though it wasn't the bruises – it was the suggestion. She didn't need to suffer the way the previous victims had to sense what she was in for. One thing Reid knew well was that there was nothing supernatural about the sense of alarm a person feels in spaces where something horrific has happened – it's our old-as-the-hills sense of survival -the subconscious lifting of old pheromones that set off the alarm bells just as clearly as if blood where to be smelled . That smell of fear, Reid knew, doesn't leave a place once the blood had been washed away.

As Reid unbuttoned the cuffs of his shirt and the first few bluish fingerprints came into view Reid mused how it was just the same for the body of an individual as it was for a building. That was the reason he wanted those marks, why he wanted to watch them yellow and fade with time, and why he wanted the marks that never would – the smell of pain still lingers.

Hotch had added a whole new level of sadism to the game, long after the scene was over. Reid still couldn't shake the feeling of being encircled in Hotch's arms or the feeling of that iron grip around his wrists. Then there were all of those thoughts that made Reid's stomach drop, his face flush, and part of him wish that the memory had never been created solely for reason because then it wouldn't disquiet him so.

Reid cast a disdainful eye toward his messenger bag as he scooped up his sleeping clothes for the night. How the hell was he supposed to look at paperwork and think of geographic profiles, when all he could think about was that face. The face that was so often filled with concern and tension drained of both, relaxed and flushed, head nestled in the crook of Reid's neck. How could he look at the other man when all he saw was that moment of desperation before he regained the upper hand, and did exactly what Reid had hoped for, and taken what he wanted. Afterwards, just as before, Aaron had treated him like a lover, someone that belong there, and yet they both knew very well that both of those sentiments couldn't be farther from the truth. Hotch would not risk his livelihood, his job, his family, his professional standing, credibility and a litany of other things for over-wrought and infrequent sex.

Reid liked flights of fancy just as much as the next literature buff but he knew that even imagining Aaron making those kinds of risks was unreasonable.

Then, as if he'd made it materialize from thoughts and thin air, a knock came at Reid's door.

Reid walked to the door hesitantly and opened it, all the while hoping that it was someone other than the man on his mind behind that door.

"Spe-Reid?" A familiar voice stuttered when Reid's worry appeared plainly on his face. "What's going on?"

"JJ," Reid said, letting out a sigh of relief and clearing the doorway for her to come into the room.

She'd come to collect the geographic analysis Reid had done on suspected burial sites used by the UnSub. After a short exchange, Reid showed her to the door and worked to reassure her that all was well when she inquired on her way out the door.

#-#-#-#-#-#

"I was coming to see you…" Reid heard in the hallway seconds after he had closed his door – immediately that aching ball in the middle of his stomach, that he'd tried all day to dissipate, hit his middle again like a hot cannonball of nerves. Reid shuffled papers on the table near by the door as he waited for the voice to move away from his suite.

"Hotch," JJ said with a hint of pleasant surprise. "I just met with Reid and he's prepared the necessary information for the local investigators," JJ paused at the recollection that Hotch was coming to see here, "Is there something I can do for you, sir?"

"You may want to check in with the lead local investigator," Hotch said with a note of genuine concern in his voice rather than reprimand, "he called this afternoon saying that he hadn't received the report we'd discussed. Is something wrong, JJ? It isn't like you to neglect this kind of routine procedure."

JJ went on to reassure Hotch that she had sent it, but no matter, if the investigator had not received it, she would be sending it right away so they could move on with filing charges.

Reid couldn't hear their words but he could he the strong resonance of Hotch's voice in the hallway and it seemed to be dimming and moving away from their original conversation spot. _Was he leaving?_ Reid let out a sigh of relief and tried to fight the nervous knots from his abdomen.

Reid turned his back on the suite door and headed toward his suitcase to finish preparing for the rare occurrence of getting into bed before the early hours of the new day. However, a second knock at the door stopped him in his tracks. Reid hesitated for a moment before the sound came again with greater insistence to be answered.

#-#-#-#-#-#

Reid didn't need to look through the peephole to know who was standing on the other side of the door and he could barely move his feet to answer it. He tried to assuage his nerves, telling himself that it was only related to the paperwork JJ had just discussed with him. _He wasn't coming to talk about anything other than work._ Reid took another deep breath and tried to steady his resolve as he turned the knob, inhaling one last gulp of air.

"Hotch?"Reid said, to Reid's great chagrin his voice seemed a half octave too high.

Before Reid could begin to bluster, Hotch stepped forward just enough to put an uncomfortable tension between the doorway, Reid, and himself, "May I come in?"

Reid's eyes just widened as he took a step back, already he was planning a viable reason to get himself or Hotch – whichever was easiest – out of the room. Why he had relinquished his ground so quickly well, if he was being uncomfortably honest, it was because he could still feel those three letters burning on his shoulder.

Once inside Reid's room, Hotch made no attempt to speak or initiate a conversation and Reid couldn't help but notice the uncharacteristic edge to his demeanor. Unthinking, Reid rubbed at the healing cuts on his shoulder as he spoke, "Something I can do for you, sir?"

Hotch released a deep breath and his face softened into a look of appreciation as he took two stride towards Reid and effectively closed the distance between them. Reid retreated backward leaving him little space to negotiate, if it came to that.

"Well," Hotch began, his face clouded again with an indecipherable smoldering emotion – inscrutable to Reid except that it clearly did not bode well for the one on the receiving end. Aaron's hand immediately came to eye-level and instinctively Reid flinched only to find his superior's hand in his unkempt hair at the base of his skull. "You can start by explaining to me," Aaron's other hand came to rest at the waistband of Reid's nightclothes, "why you've avoided me like one of your often-mentioned mid-century plagues?" That earned a slight smile from Reid and a deep sigh of relief as he relaxed into Aaron's hold. Aaron smiled – Reid had given his permission.

Aaron narrowed his gaze and tightened his grip on his fistful of brown locks. "Don't look too relieved. You may find it to be a fitting analogy by the end of the night," Aaron looked on fascinated, as Reid closed his eyes and slipped into the role that was demanded of him. Reid's emotional release was one of the most satisfying parts of their prior encounter – knowing that he could effect that kind of reaction only made Aaron bolder. The only other thing that possibly came close was the delightfully torturous burn of shame that he felt for days – shame for eventually finding his own release in the act.

Spencer had once openly praised Aaron for his ability to understand him and now it felt like understanding Reid was the least of his abilities.

Aaron leaned in close, releasing a warm burst of breath over Reid's exposed ear, "Why did you leave?" He said in a hushed voice – almost vulnerable.

Reid couldn't explain why he felt the need to be cool to Aaron and egg him on but he did just that when he looked at Aaron plainly and replied, "I couldn't stay."

"So you're saying this time I should go with my first instinct and leave the cuffs on you through the night," The negotiations were done and the game had begun. The smile in Aaron's voice had gone dark as his tone deepened and his fingers came to lace themselves behind Spencer's neck, securing his head in place.

Reid met Aaron's gaze head on and spoke without flinching, "You think there is going to be a next time? What, you think you're going to do that with the others just a few walls apart from us? You and I both know there isn't a next time." Reid tried to look away and Aaron slackened his fingers to allow him the movement.

However, Hotch continued on undeterred, pressing himself further into the weakly defiant young man, "Then again, with the handcuffs on you how would you get that release you seemed to need so desperately in the early morning hours." Aaron chuckled wickedly when he felt Reid bristle with embarrassment. Reid tried quickly to pull away from Hotch, his growing arousal only adding to the sting of humiliation at Hotch's point that was accompanied by the simultaneous scalding flood of recollections.

Aaron caught Reid's chin in his hand and turned Reid's head back to face him.

"Reid, ther-" Hotch began but was promptly cut short by Reid's swift plant of his hands into the older man's chest and vehement protestations.

"I'm not doing this again. Just stop. I can't do this." Reid whined in a strained whisper.

Reid's movements soon proved to be an unwise choice because no sooner had he freed himself from the older man's grasp but he found himself turned toward, and then pressed against, the wall that he had so foolishly backed himself into earlier.

Aaron closed what little space there was between them, placing his arms on either side of Reid, his body hovering just a breath away from Reid's back. "Are you asking me to stop, Spencer?" He asked with grave sincerity.

Reid shook his head slowly.

"That's not good enough, Reid." There it was. That voice.

"No, Sir. I'm not asking you to stop."

Aaron didn't acknowledge him except for the crisp metallic click of handcuffs and then as he moved forward, his fingers slowly, roughly, pressing into tender points on Spencer's back.

Reid squirmed and fought the urge to vocalize his discomfort until Aaron hit on bruise he'd so diligently outlined with his blade. Spencer's pain came out in hushed dry sobs, wept into the wall was pressed into, "Please. Oh. Oh, please. Sir, I don't -. I-I can't,"

"What?" Aaron sounded terse – frustrated with Reid's pleas. "What is it?" Hotch doubled the pressure on Reid's sensitive points.

"I need your help," The constant pain in Reid's back kept him sincere or under other circumstances he may have laughed at what he was about to say, "I-I can't be as quiet as you'd want me to be. Please, I need your help." As if to punctuate his last words, Reid let out a clearly audible groan when Aaron's touch turned from comforting to tormenting once again.

Aaron did not resist the urge to laugh heartily at Reid's request. Hotch turned Reid in one brusque movement that had Reid falling back clumsily against the wall. Reid fumbled for a moment to regain his balance before Hotch's talon-like hand came to snatch Reid by the back of his neck. Aaron pulled him into place and firmly onto his feet, his nails digging into the soft and angry skin at the back of Spencer's neck as his other hand came to cover Reid's mouth.

"You said it yourself, what exactly is it that you think I'll do with a team of profilers yards away?" Hotch quirked an eyebrow at Reid. "Were you hoping for something like last night?" Now he was mocking Reid, mocking and all the while tantalizingly close, making sure not to miss points that had the younger man squirming and moaning with alternating pangs of pleasure and discomfort. Hotch whispered cruelly in Spencer's ear, "Not happening, Dr. Reid."

Reid's eyes went wide with questions and denied desire which just made Hotch's ridiculing smile grow broader. Hotch caressed Reid's cheek, feeling a hot surge of pleasure run through him when the younger man closed his eyes, and then remembering, filled with tension and braced for what the caress may become.

"You are welcome to ask me again the evening after we return," Hotch smiled, tapping his fingers at the side of Reid's cheek, "The night after we return I'll expect to see you – right where I found you the first time." Aaron removed his hand from Spencer's mouth slowly, running his fingertips down Reid's neck, to his shoulder, swiftly pulling the younger man away from the wall and to lean against his superior.

Reid tried futilely to control his breathing as the older man's hands ran down the sides of his body and then with a metallic click, Reid's hand were freed and he was tossed back against the wall, as Aaron walked out of the room – never turning to glace back at the stunned and frustrated young man left rubbing his wrists.

**A/N: Thank you to those who continued to read even though this is probably the longest update process ever. I've missed writing it even though I feel like I struggled a bit in this chapter. Hopefully, since there has been a lull in work I'll be able to update more frequently seeing as how we (and Reid) have something fun to get to in the future. ;) Always your comments and constructive critiques are welcome. **

**Lastly (but never leastly), happy belated birthday to my wonderful muse, patron, and friend - it seems strange to offer you this promise of impending (character) torture as celebration of your birth but I suppose that's how we roll. Cheers! **


	4. Bonds of Jealousy

**Warnings: No shades here, except maybe in the descriptions of bruising (LOL). If you made it through the first chapter and happened to read through my other works then you know this will not be a light-hearted romp. Unless your idea of a light-hearted romp includes (in no real order): graphic language, sexual situations, violence in the context of sex, violence outside of the context of sex, breath-play, and semi-graphic descriptions of wounds/abrasions/bruises. **

**Spoilers: Everything before 'Lauren' is fair game. **

* * *

><p>"<em>A negative judgment gives you more satisfaction than praise, provided it smacks of jealousy." - Jean Baudrillard<em>

"_What I needed most was to love and to be loved, eager to be caught. Happily I wrapped those painful bonds around me; and sure enough, I would be lashed with the red-hot pokers of jealousy, by suspicions and fear, by burst of anger and quarrels."-Saint Augustine_

"_Everybody knows that you've been faithful; give or take a night or two. Everybody knows you've been discreet, but there were so many people you just had to meet, without your clothes, and everybody knows." – Leonard Cohen's song, Everybody Knows._

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><p>JJ had it right; the case took less than seventy-two hours to unravel and had them back home, and back to the office, in good stead. Yet all that meant for Aaron Hotchner was days of watching Spencer Reid go about his day-to-day activities as if he had all but forgotten the pleas he'd made weeks before on Aaron's doorstep. It was certain, that by now, the bruises and cuts had healed. If there was healing and forgetting happening, Dr. Reid was the only one doing it.<p>

Aaron Hotchner would look at the lithe, young man and feel nothing but jealousy at every acknowledgement; every smile that he paid to anyone within Aaron's sight set Aaron's blood boiling. He let his mind go there. With each smile and rambling fact, Aaron salved his pain by imagining Reid crying, helpless, begging as he brought the lash down on the young man that dared to laugh in his presence, with someone else.

The typical stony visage that Aaron wore around the office masked his ideas about Reid perfectly. It was not out-of-character for him to move through the office with haste and a look of serious preoccupation – what else could be expected from the BAU Unit Chief?

Aaron knew that he presided over a world-class team of observers and analyzers – profilers – and there was no way of getting under their radar for good. Though the idea that he would have done what he'd done to Reid, or that Reid would have darkened his doorway begging for such a thing, was well-beyond the realm of their analysis or imaginings.

Reid continued to make every show of disinterest and to make clear that he'd forgotten that night. Aaron had watched as Spencer had agreed to accompany Derek Morgan out with some of his Academy students. Aaron had endured a week of Derek's tales of that night; how Reid had gotten drunk and failed miserably on the dance floor, even with the prompting of a capable female companions. Spencer just ignored Derek, playing little pranks on him whenever he got the chance, to retaliate for Derek's loose lips. Their pranks had become this running gag in the office; Spencer had sabotaged Derek's radio that he took running – now it played only National Public Radio or the greatest Baroque hits. In retaliation, Derek had found a way to remove every tenth page in Spencer's new book – sending the young man into an intellectual brick wall as he tried to speed through the latest tome. As Spencer bruises faded and assumedly his cravings too, he became more extroverted and seemed to delight in the companionship of the other team members; another basketball game with Will and JJ, a Dr. Who marathon with Garcia, more drinking with Morgan and Prentiss, and even a cooking class with David Rossi.

Aaron's skin crawled with every hint of Spencer's new excursions – happy words that floated past his ears, as he donned that look of stone, and made his way through the office. He tried to excuse his fixation with the profiler logic of how Spencer's actions reflected a change in his individual perception of self and so on. No, he wasn't worried that Spencer's new found extrovert would give him away. No, he was worried that Spencer would eventually parlay that into a way of giving himself away. What if the next door he knocked on was Derek's? What if he decided that Derek Morgan understood him better, understood that deep-seated pain better than he could? With every drink, every dinner, every thoughtful laugh or sigh, was just another sign that he was losing him. Correction, that he was no longer needed. That was a one-time meeting, a fluke, an anomaly of sorts – an outlier. Spencer had been the one to sneak out, to avoid Aaron, to branch out without a single look back to the man he was leaving behind.

Night after night, Aaron returned to his empty apartment. He would never lament having the sole responsibility and care of Jack but he longed for something in between – something between Jack's cooing and coloring and Erin Strauss's bureaucratic jargon. Granted, Spencer wasn't so much a middle ground but a way to let go in a manner that he couldn't with the former options.

Days aged and so did Aaron's jealousy and they were soon called away on another case; this one was not nearly as simple as the last one that JJ had arranged. This case had turned into a two week affair, a perpetual cat-and-mouse-game exacerbated by the local jurisdiction's incompetence and rabid belligerence to cover up for the lack of resources – intellectual or otherwise. It was wrong to go there, oh so wrong, but in a way Aaron was glad for the intense distraction – for the immersion in something other than his preoccupation with ripping Reid's back to pieces again.

No, if he had Spencer to himself again, if Spencer decided to darken his doorway with pleas for physical manifestations of his internal strife, Aaron wouldn't resist, he wouldn't hold back like he had last time. Dr. Reid wanted a trial, a physical mirror of his mental turmoil, then he would get it in spades and Aaron's fingers practically itched at the thought. Though, at the moment, the idea of Spencer coming to him a second time seemed wildly unlikely. Spencer had needed those scars to move on, to watch them heal in the way that he couldn't observe his emotions scab over and knit together with scar tissue.

Aaron Hotchner was just a conduit between Dr. Spencer Reid and a better life that he felt was unattainable; a new life that had no room for Aaron in it other than the role that work had cast him in.

Spencer would not come to him again.

Besides, Dr. Reid was part of that world-class analytical team, if he thought that approaching Aaron again after this level of cool indifference would yield the kind of result he desired – no, Spencer wasn't that dense, not that oblivious.

Then again, Aaron had to remind himself, Spencer wasn't raised like that – to expect retribution even without a direct confrontation. In ways, Spencer was still the socially awkward boy that shadowed Jason Gideon around. This assumption seemed more generous than the other options that Aaron was considering, like the idea that maybe Spencer knew full well what he was doing; that Spencer had used him. Aaron let a small audible chuckle escape his lips at that thought. Spencer had used _him_.

Yes, Aaron that's exactly how you should look at it. You beat him to a quivering pulp and _he used you._ Those ideas were the very shading of a sketch artist's pencil, yielding an image of someone that they would profile and hunt - wasn't that along the same path as his father? Blaming the –

Reid wasn't - Reid isn't a victim, at least not by Aaron Hotchner's hands. Aaron was so used to pushing that thought around that it was easy to overcome with a litany of rehearsed justifications. The strongest justification being the memory of Spencer's midnight, self-motivated reach for the older man; the way that Spencer had searched for him in the dark and not let up until they were both sweat-covered and satisfied. Even the shortest moments spent on that memory left him frustrated, hungry for the younger man again, and still darkly jealous.

It wasn't until they were called across the country, to a small California town, to investigate the murder and mutilation of several migrant workers, that Aaron got his chance. Looking at the broken bodies of the young field workers should have dampened Aaron's burning jealousy, and it was true, it did help contain the fire. It couldn't have been a more inappropriate time to consider what he had in mind, and Hotch knew that too. Still, when the motor-coach hotel had come up short in rooms; the rooms were scattered across the hotel, on various and seemingly random floors, and Aaron tried to appear disappointed – and to all he remained appropriately inscrutable – but inside he was alive with the perceived opportunity.

Dr. Reid had ingratiated himself to every member of the team so the chance of finding a volunteer to share their room for the night (one night only – the manager assured them) was looking fairly good. JJ was the first to back out. Will liked Reid, enjoyed spending time with the young man, trusted him with his wife's life but, JJ said apologetically, he probably wouldn't have been too keen with them sharing a hotel bed.

"Sorry, kid." Rossi said, patting Reid firmly on the shoulder. "Old man needs his sleep and all." Without sticking around to possibly risk further negotiation, Rossi pulled up the handle on his rolling suitcase and headed for the elevator.

Hotch could feel his face darkening as he watched Prentiss and Morgan actually consider the option. Morgan? The one that Reid had actually aggressively pulled away from after he and Hotch had – yeah, after that night - were practical jokes the only thing those two were trading in? The though made Aaron want to grab Spencer by scruff of the neck like an arrant dog; though when it came time for a punishment, a rolled-up newspaper was a far kinder instrument than what he had envisioned taking to Reid's skin.

Hotch's seething thoughts must have played very plainly on his face because Morgan spoke up quickly, "Hotch doesn't seem too pleased about having you as a roommate either, Pretty Boy. Should I be worried to offer you my room?" Morgan laughed, nudging Reid who suddenly was looking rather pallid.

"It's one night," Hotch said slowly, coolly, making to scan between the three team members as he spoke. "I won't get much sleep anyway. I never do the first night on a case. Reid's more than welcome to my bed; I doubt I'll be in it tonight."

Emily took this as her cue to depart to the elevators as well. Derek smiled widely at the now ghostly pale Reid, "See, Pretty Boy, it couldn't have gone any better, you get your light on all night, and a bed to sleep in." Morgan nodded at Hotch in appreciation. "Nice, Hotch. See you in the morning – if we don't get called in earlier," Then Morgan added as an afterthought, "If you ball up a couple of socks and stuff 'em in his mouth, the snoring shouldn't get in the way of your work." Morgan let out a hearty laugh, slapped Reid on the back once jovially, before walking away.

Reid felt his stomach drop when Morgan walked to the elevator and Hotch stayed, unmoving, from their spot in the lobby. Spencer's mouth had gone drier than the dusty valley and he could feel all of the water in his body pooling on the palms of his hands. The only thing comforting about the whole situation was the assumption that Aaron put stock in things like propriety, and the general idea that this was Aaron Hotchner he was talking about not someone else. Aaron Hotchner, the by the book, borderline militaristically-rigid personality, that even restrained his affection to his wife when he was in front of the team. Yet, something else rung in Spencer's ears – by the book – where was it in 'the book' that it was ok to let a murder-suspect reap their revenge before taking them in? Where in 'the book' was the allowance for the night at Aaron's apartment? Who was he kidding, Aaron had no problem deviating from 'the book' if he could see the reasoning through it.

That was why when Hotch strode to the elevator that Reid followed; head down, stomach in knots, and a feeling of very little assurance that he wasn't walking into an evening that would leave him with plenty of things to heal.

Hotch didn't speak, his manner was brusque, but that was nothing unusual. Spencer could excuse his sharp insertion of the keycard into the lock as tired frustration, maybe even grief over the present case. Though what could Spencer use to explain away the way that Aaron walked through the door and allowed his slender fingers to release it without any regard for the man behind him?

Hotch dropped his small rolling suitcase on the fold-out luggage rack and began unpacking, without paying Spencer a single regard. Several clean, pressed shirts were hung on the hangers provided by the hotel; then several pairs of pants were added to the rungs of the same hangers; a wallet was added to the dresser; a small moleskin notebook followed it, and then more mundane items – socks, underwear, a few folded white undershirts, and several ties. And then out came something that had Reid wanting to flatten his back to the wall – a braided, black leather belt. A belt that, by the way it fell into Aaron's grasp, seemed to be made of soft, supple leather; laying loosely coiled on the dresser, it looked more like a silver-headed snake than a fashion accessory.

It was then, with his fixation on the belt, that Spencer realized that he'd been staring. Spencer had caught Aaron's attention and his dark eyes were temporarily locked on the young man. It took every piece of strength in Reid's neck to shift his head so that he was looking the older man in the eye. _But, then again, _Spencer mused,_ I'm a blinker._

Yet it was Aaron who broke the eye-contact first and continued to unpack what was left in his suitcase; a pair of handcuffs, another notebook, and a shaving kit.

Maybe it wouldn't be too late to zip up his suitcase, head down to the front desk, and have them ring up Emily Prentiss. Emily would let him stay with her. She treated Reid like a kid brother and that would be about what he needed. This disjointed hotel had cable. Maybe they could catch a few episodes of Dr. Who, re-aired on the Science Fiction channel. Spencer envisioned his new room assignment; happily sharing one of those small bottles of liquor, and then drifting to sleep as he tipsily rambled to Emily about the hazards of hotel comforters. As his overactive-mind added details to his little fantasy, his fingers must have begun to put his plan into action because he was halfway through zipping up his suitcase when he felt himself turned to face those piercingly angry eyes that he had feared and tried so hard to avoid.

"Where is the social butterfly off to now?" Coming from anyone else's mouth the sentence would almost be comical; though the barb in it, intentional or otherwise, had Dr. Spencer Reid feeling like he was back in high school. His eyes began to burn and he could feel his vocal cords quavering even before he had words for them to articulate. Hotch no longer had his hands on the younger man but Reid was held in place regardless. Aaron took a step closer, "I think we've run the course of your silent treatment, Dr. Reid," Now they were almost toe-to-toe, "Answer me."

Reid bristled as he felt the suitcase pressing into the back of his thighs; his legs trapped between the older man and the foot of the bed.

"I wasn't-" Before he could finish the half-stammered lie, a stinging impact hit the right side of his face. Reid didn't know how but he'd managed to hold his ground, turning his head at the force of Aaron's hand, as he struggled to absorb the familiar echo that began at his jaw and rattled back through his head.

"I never thought you considered me to be stupid, Dr. Reid," Aaron's use of his title sounded more like an epithet than a form of respect; Reid cringed at the words. Then the familiar feeling of those long fingers lacing through his hair and directing his head so that the older man's gaze was unavoidable. "That is what lying is at its core, isn't it? You think the one you're lying to is too dense, too oblivious, _too stupid to figure it out._" Aaron's needed only to step back and exert a little downward pressure to the handful of Reid's hair before the young man took the cue and sunk to his knees.

Aaron knew he shouldn't enjoy that image so much. If Hotchner paused and evaluated the scene, he could come up with a million reasons why it was wrong; it was wrong that having the young man looking up at him terrified like this, sent an electric current through him like none other. Through Reid's compliance, Aaron could assume that Reid knew what was coming. In theory, they'd have talked this kind of spontaneity over and Spencer would have offered some kind of blanket consent to things that he'd be OK with, no matter their timing. In theory, if Spencer's next words were something that implied that he didn't want to go any further, Aaron would retreat, pour him a drink, and try to bring him back to their day-to-day relationship. Ah yes, their day-to-day relationship, the almost non-existent interactions, the refusal to meet Aaron's eyes for more than a second at a time, and the overt effort to avoid him at any cost. _Yes_, Aaron thought, the jealousy and bitterness rising up in the back of his throat, _let's not hesitate to put things back the way they were._

Aaron felt his fingers itching again and he coiled them tighter in the younger man's hair, fully expecting to hear the hair popping from Reid's tender scalp.

Spencer didn't fight him; he didn't try to pull away or to counter Hotch's hand with his own grip. Instead, Spencer brought his hands to where they'd been that night at Hotch's apartment, resting at the small of his back, held securely by invisible shackles.

Aaron paused and took in the small compliant movement, the overt sign of consent, and for the first time his face broke out in a wide and happily sinister grin. He loosened his grip slightly on Reid's hair, enough to ease a little of the pain, and then brought his free hand up to Reid's reddened cheek. "This didn't start out as a way to punish you," Reid closed his eyes momentarily when he expected Aaron's hand to pull back from its target and strike him again, "this started out as something you wanted," but the caresses continued and Reid, against his better judgment, Reid allowed himself to be lulled into a temporary sense of security, enjoying the contact.

Speaking of stupid, Reid thought ruefully, as the contact left the side of his face, moments after he'd closed his eyes, and reconnected in a painful blow that echoed in the room as much as it did in Spencer's head; Aaron's vice-like grip pressing down on either side of his head, "This time it isn't for you," Aaron leaned into his face, their lips just a breath away, "and I don't care if you get what you want."

Aaron released his grip on Reid's skull and took a step back, admiring the fearful look on the younger man's face and the consummate display of obedience. A level of obedience, Hotch mused, that Dr. Reid couldn't seem to manage in any other realm of their interactions. He looked the younger man over, pleased. Then turned his back and headed toward the dresser and to those items that Spencer had been, oh so subtly, eyeing earlier.

Hotch picked the cuffs up in one hand, the buttery-soft leather belt in the other, and walked toward Reid. Aaron looked very concernedly down at the young man, "How many shirts did you pack?"

"Three," Reid said without hesitation but flinched when Aaron tossed the belt and cuffs, past his head, and onto the foot of the bed behind him. Hotch then turned and headed back to his suitcase, his few short steps poised with a sense of purpose. He unzipped the shaving kit that lay on top of his bag and removed something that had him questioning his sanity; it had been burning a hole in his bag since the moment he'd packed it; and it had taken up a place of honor since that night with Spencer.

At first he'd hidden it, just as he had when his brother had given it to him so many years ago. The first morning that Reid had come into the office seeming happy, chatting with one of the other team members about the activity of the day. That was the first night Aaron had come home and stared into the recesses of his medicine cabinet. Aaron stared into the mirrored cabinet for long moments of intensity before withdrawing the old straight-razor. What was that legend, about staring into the mirror long enough to see the Devil? Hotch stared at his reflection, watching fascinated, and simultaneously horrified at himself, as he flicked the blade from its casing. Each happy reflection that he was privy to in the office, each moment that Spencer avoided him, he resolved to run that blade through the young man's skin.

Aaron turned from his travel case and recollections, back in the direction of Reid. Aaron took in the pleasing sight of Dr. Spencer Reid, deep in thought, head cast down to the floor, and hands still obediently clasped behind his back.

Yet there was also something infuriating about Spencer's instant obedience; he fell into the role a little too easily and that brought an entirely different wave of thoughts down upon Hotchner, which surprisingly, he had not entertained before this moment. JJ had ensured that they had taken cases that kept them close to home or would return them in a few days time; the free nights far out-numbered the members of the BAU. Yes, a television show marathon, a cooking class, a night playing Morgan's wingman, and good clean family-fun with JJ and her husband – what about the other nights? Aaron stood staring at Reid – what had he done on those nights? Was he still too fearful to hop on a train to New York or D.C. alone? Logically, the idea of Spencer haunting leather bars or sex clubs was laughably ridiculous. Yet there was still that level of doubt that gave way to a great chasm between logic and jealousy, and tonight, Aaron Hotchner was not about to try and bridge the two.

He flicked open the straight-razor and came to stand in front of Reid again. Spencer's eyes remained downcast. Aaron brought the silver blade to rest underneath Reid's chin. When the cold metal made contact with Reid's skin he unthinkingly jerked backward and fell onto his ass, his head hitting the foot of the bed as he lost his balance.

This was becoming a familiar dance; the first time, it had been Aaron's firearm that had elicited that response and still Aaron made no move to comfort or explain his next action. Aaron reached for Reid, as if he was going to bury his hand in Reid's hair. Reid jerked away but let out a small yelp of surprise when Hotch yanked him up into a straighter posture by the back of his shirt collar. Reid opened his mouth to speak but sat there stunned when Hotch thrust the razor between the taut fabric of Spencer's shirt, threading it through the small space between the shirtfront and the panel that had the buttons sewn to it. In one deft move, he brought the razor downward in the direction of Reid's belt, causing each pearly white button to pop off of Spencer's shirt, and scatter about the room.

The thought of cutting through Reid's undershirt was tempting but given their assignment he decided to spare it. Besides, watching him squirm as he removed it had the potential to be much more satisfying. Aaron grasped Reid by his upper arm and pulled him into a standing position and directed him in front of the full length mirror that hung next to the door.

"Take off your shirt." Hotch demanded, staring at the side of Reid's face so hard that he wouldn't be surprised if the young man could feel it.

Spencer's eyes fell to the floor again and he shook his head in a denial. It was if Aaron had suddenly felt the floor drop out from beneath him.

Up until then, every hit, every implement, had been planned - this was the first time it had sprung from a place of spontaneous rage. Aaron could hear every other portion of his life screaming in his ears. Aaron's head was ringing with protestation, analysis, and the general plea that he knew better than this. He knew better than to do this in anger, as a form of retaliation, as a means of punishment. Yet the simple mammalian desire to mark his territory, to sink his teeth into what _belonged to him _roared over all voices of reasoning. Aaron's hand was at Spencer's throat, before he could mediate the battle between his urges and his senses. His long, nimble fingers wrapped effortlessly around Spencer's throat, pressing his palm down on the soft space of Reid's neck, unrelenting, even as he felt Reid's throat spasm in fear, and the failed attempt to draw oxygen.

"Is there an order you ever _will_ follow?" He asked, as he moved over the young man, feeling Reid's throat bucking under the pressure of his palm. He felt Reid's legs begin to tremble as he kept a steady pressure on the young man's throat, "Don't lie to me, Spencer," The words came from Aaron's mouth with an unintentional crackle of emotion, he loosened the pressure on Reid's throat enough for the young man to draw a breath and then cut off the passage once again, "What are you hiding?"

Tears sprung from the younger man's eyes and the spasms underneath Hotch's palm became more intense as he fought to draw a breath for the sob that wouldn't be allowed to escape. It was as good an admission of guilt as any other and it was all Aaron knew he'd have to force himself to relent. Yet, when Reid's face began to redden and then his lips began to lose their color, he did relent; Hotch's hand coming to Spencer's wrist and catching his pulse with his free hand. Reid's first breath heaved out a weak sob as tears streamed down his face, as if Aaron had ripped open a dam upon removing his hand from Reid's throat.

"What?" Hotch said angrily, catching Reid by the front of his shirt and pulling his up from his slightly doubled over position, as he cried and simultaneously tried to catch his breath. "Just tell me. Just get it over with!" He hauled Reid back in front of the mirror. Aaron was mentally preparing himself, trying to calm himself, in preparation of seeing another man's imprint on Reid's body.

"I'm losing my mind," the younger man whispered softly, barely loud enough for Aaron to hear him.

"An insanity plea," Hotch laughed without a tinge of humor, "that isn't an overused excuse for sneaking around and fucking strangers." He was just moments away – just moments – before he slammed Reid back into the door and pressed until his throat refused to fight back. He shut off every nagging instinct to profile himself, to pull himself from the burning red anger that he should have directed at plenty of other people. Those words were missing their deserving target completely but if Reid needed his scars to heal, then Aaron finally needed to lose some of his restraint to salve his wounds.

At least, that was the selfish justification that Aaron used to propel himself away from Reid and back toward the items laying on the hotel bed. Aaron snatched the soft, supple leather belt off the bed and strode back toward Spencer. Reid barely gathered enough sense together to force his hands out in front of him when Aaron pushed him, face first, toward the mirror that hung on the wall. Aaron's left hand came to Reid's own buckle and quickly unfastened it, followed by the single button, and zipper on Reid's slacks.

"I'm sure this is a familiar position," Aaron snarled in his ear as he locked eyes with Reid's reflection in the mirror. Reid's eyes were still brimming with tears even though his audible expressions of despair had ceased.

Aaron pushed himself back from Reid and took another pace backward, putting a decent distance between he and Spencer, leaving plenty of room for the belt to catch its momentum and land with a muffled slap across Reid's back. When Aaron struck Reid's clothed back again he made sure to wrap the belt around Reid's shoulder so that, by chance, it would hit the word that he had traced there many nights ago. The hit had the desired effect and Spencer let out a high-pitched yelp of pain.

If Aaron believed in that sort of thing, he would have explained their last-minute room assignment as Divine Providence. Two of the hotel bedroom walls sat at the end of the building, the one that Reid was now braced against, was shared by a storage room/supply closet of the hotel. The fourth wall, of course, ran up against the hallway which was a rarely used run of carpet that led to a window and staff restroom. When Aaron had begrudgingly accepted the room, he had a feeling that he may have been booting a member of the night crew from their sleeping quarters. The inconvenience of it all now seemed well worth it.

Aaron pulled down Reid's fitted black pants, and then moved his hand to the scruff of Reid's neck, before bringing the belt-wielding hand back and releasing the belt on the back of Spencer's thighs. Spencer's yelps of pain continued but without a hint of protestation. Aaron brought the braided belt over the back of Spencer's thighs until they were a fiery red and burning with pain. "Where did you find them?" Hotch growled out in between blows. Reid didn't answer him, he'd given up, and was resting his head on the cool mirror in front of him. Aaron brought down two quick strikes without a reprieve, ensuring that each wrapped around the side of Reid's exposed thigh, and would leave a decent welt.

"This isn't the end, Spencer." The belt cracked again on the younger man's raw skin, "you'll be behind a desk all day tomorrow and I want your ass to be just as striped and colorful as those maps you'll be staring at." Two more successive hits. Aaron's enjoyment of Spencer's pain was short-lived every time he caught sight of that white undershirt that was now damp with perspiration. Aaron struck Reid; one, two, three, five, ten…Reid was losing count as they came in painfully blinding succession. Then without warning, Aaron tossed the belt into the far corner of the room and he grabbed Reid by both shoulders, pulling him back from the mirror. "I know what you've done, Spencer. Just take off the damn shirt and own up to it." Aaron knew that his request being answered would just leave him just as broken as the young man in front of him who's tears refused to cease.

"Do it!" Aaron growled, looking down at his feet and catching the location of the straight-razor.

Reid crossed his arms in front of his torso, still sobbing, and then slowly, with trembling hands, he pulled his shirt up and off of his body, dropping it to the floor with a choked sob of defeat.

Very little shocked Aaron Hotchner but he could have been knocked over with a feather with Reid's physical revelation. There were those three letters that he had cut into Reid's skin so many nights back and there they were, cut deeper, still red, as if he'd made those marks twice as deep, just days ago. Yes, it was incredibly illogical to think that Reid would seek out someone else to repeat Aaron's work. Spencer had stuck himself with that Dillaudid needle on his own, hadn't he? He wanted this to take its place, to distract him, to heal him, so why wouldn't he have taken a blade into his own hand as well?

"I'm losing my mind," The young man repeated, still refusing to look up at Aaron, certain that the Unit Chief had dropped all pretense of their game and was now conducting a quick calculation on just how costly it would be to send him packing, as soon as the jet could refuel.

The remorse that was now overwhelming Aaron had him all but ready to pick up that soft leather braid and place the buckle in Reid's hands as they switched places. Yet, looking over those deep red cuts he knew that would be the ultimate betrayal of what Reid had demonstrated.

Aaron's lack of a response had Reid's mind swimming with unfortunate outcomes for his bold and reckless gesture. He'd done everything he could to distract himself, to keep himself in check during the days and away from Aaron's doorstep at night. Being with a member of the team when he couldn't be at work was like some twisted game of Six Degrees of Aaron Hotchner. Basketball was incredibly boring and difficult to follow, the cooking class was a disaster and Reid had landed a more coherent dish on the floor than in the actual pan. Emily was just glad to distract him in any way possible after he had snapped at her during his withdrawals, maybe the verbal firestorm he'd unleashed on her had somehow clued her into his feelings more than any of the others, save for Aaron.

Aaron turned the shaking young man toward him, slowly understanding his fear. For want of a shirt, Dr. Spencer Reid was thinking he'd just lost everything; work, friends, and a...no word seemed to fit. It didn't matter how it was worded, Aaron was watching the young man mourn what he perceived to be, the loss of everything he ever had in the world. The urge to break character, to scoop Spencer up in his arms and reassure him, comfort him, was nearly impossible to ignore.

"Reid," Aaron's tone had softened but it still held that strength that practically commanded level-headedness. Aaron approached him and stretched out a hand, running his fingers over the angry red letters. Spencer couldn't make himself look at the other man, even as he took in a pained gasp when Aaron's fingers pressed firmly on each angry letter, tracing it with his thumb as his other fingers sunk into Reid's shoulder. This wasn't the time for him to say all that should hang at the end of Spencer's name, so he cleared his throat, "On your knees."

Spencer's let out a long sigh of relief as he fell, rather than softly descend, to his knees. Aaron took a moment to absorb all that has occurred in the last few moments; Reid's actions have spoken volumes, or at least Aaron was content to read volumes into those three inflamed letters, freshly cut open on the young man's body. Aaron looked around the room trying to regain some understanding of what his next step should be. The straight-razor had been discarded at some point and now lay next to the kneeling Reid, the cuffs still lying on the bed, unused.

Aaron went to the bed and retrieved the handcuffs and walked back toward Reid. Hotch had plenty of time to hate himself for what he'd said and done to Reid this evening. How much of it could be excused by the scene? Would Reid forgive him all of it, chalk it all up to arousing, terrifying pain? Aaron could only be so lucky.

Spencer was still kneeling up obediently in front of the mirror, probably loathe to let any tension out of his legs and rest his bruised, welted thighs against anything.

Aaron took in Reid's appearance slowly and decided a few things would have to be removed from the younger man before he could add those cuffs to his wrists.

"Spencer," Aaron said once he was a step away from the young man. Reid looked up toward him, his eyes wide, beautiful but damp and red with tears. "Take off your shoes and socks." Reid's temporary struggle to avoid pain and to comply with Hotch's request was amusing to say the least. He eventually sunk to the floor with a yelp of pain as the coarse carpet made contact with his marred skin. Spencer's hand went to the bunched up fabric at his calves but looked up questioningly to Hotch before the older man understood and nodded his consent. Spencer removed his slacks and underwear that hung around his calves as well – leaving him completely nude.

Aaron looked him over slowly, approvingly, as he toed off his own shoes and socks. Aaron watched as Reid paused for a moment, unsure of his next move, but slowly rose to a kneeling position, his back to the mirror by the door, the front of his body facing the bed and Hotch.

Hotch kept eye contact with the young man as he loosened his tie, removed it, and then removed the white collared shirt along with it, keeping on the thin white shirt beneath it – breaking character for just a moment to neatly hang both his tie and crisp white shirt on the back of the hotel desk chair.

Aaron retrieved the cuffs from the foot of the bed and walked over to the naked young man in front of the mirror. Without a word of explanation Aaron hauled Spencer to his feet and pressed him back against the cold floor-length mirror behind him. Spencer let out a yelp of surprise as the cold made contact with his skin, his breath continued in short, nervous gasp, no doubt anticipating Aaron's next grip would be back at his throat.

"Sssh," Aaron reassured, bringing his right, cuff-free hand to Spencer's arm, rubbing his fingers gently down the smooth pale skin. "Look at me, Reid." He whispered, moving his face closer to the younger man, so close that Spencer could feel the warmth of his breath across his lips. Reid tentatively complied and as soon as his lips were level with the older man, Hotch pressed forward, catching him in a deep kiss.

_It was over._ Reid sighed with relief. This was it. The scene was done and now they could lapse into that sweet anomaly of a night that had occurred before Spencer had lost his nerve, and left before Hotch could awaken to the daylight and the reality of the situation.

Though the gentleness that had been there when Reid had groped for the older man in the darkness of the early morning, Aaron's sweet and tentative initiation of their union, was nowhere to be found. These kisses were deep, bruising, and left Reid struggling to regain his breath. Aaron's clothed knee pressed between Reid's legs, nudging them apart, and putting pressure on Spencer's strengthening arousal.

Spencer Reid was struggling for breath as Aaron's lips broke away only momentarily and then rejoined his. Spencer was beyond understanding the situation or trying fearfully to predict Aaron's next move. When Aaron pressed forward, bringing his body closer to Reid, practically pinning him to the wall, Spencer could feel his focus split distinctly in two. Spencer tried to keep up with Aaron's kisses, to return them in kind but never to move beyond his obedient reception of Aaron's mouth. The blood and focus that was not devoted to flushing his lips and cheeks was swiftly migrating lower. Spencer needed him closer, needed some relief, he needed a living, breathing recollection of their night together, before all of this had been buried by work and shame.

What little blood was left to operate his constantly active mind knew that his hands clutching Aaron's waist, trying to bring him closer, was a bad idea. And as soon as Spencer's finger found purchase in Aaron's belt loops his disobedience was confirmed by Aaron's low growl into the kiss. Aaron had been running his hands soothingly along Spencer's exposed body, moving back to pinch, tease, or explore different tender places on Reid's body. The caresses stopped upon Reid's transgression, the kiss breaking momentarily as Aaron looked the frightened young man in the eye.

Aaron rememberings of their night together could in no way live up the scene before him; Spencer's lips flushed red from their kisses, his cheeks an aroused and embarrassed crimson, those angry red words on Reid's shoulder that seemed to glow as Spencer's chest also took on a soft pink flush. Reid's trembling hands, that the young man couldn't seem to find a place for since Aaron had corrected his previous attempt. Aaron couldn't help it, the look of helplessness on the young man's face twisted with need and desperation – all Aaron could do was allow a wide smile to cross his face. He watched, smiling, as Reid's anxiety increased. Aaron must have been planning something and as Reid speculated on the possibilities, his breath picked up its near-hyperventilating pace and his cheeks grew even redder. Aaron watched for several seconds before taking pity on the young man and resuming contact with Spencer's increasing arousal and using his other hand to place Spencer shaking palms flatly against the cool mirror behind the young man.

Hotch continued to explore Spencer's mouth, teasing, biting, and occasionally stealing the breath from his lungs. As Aaron's fingers continued their journey over the young man's body, finding all of Reid's points that had him shaking and rigid with arousal. Aaron smiled into their kiss and Spencer's fear and restraint were overcome by his need for release. Aaron finally took a step back from Reid, who whimpered at the loss, but sighed with satisfaction when Aaron pulled him away from the mirror and back to him, resuming their kiss.

Aaron brought one hand to Reid's engraved shoulder, holding him in place, while he stepped back and to the side of the young man. When Spencer reached for him, Aaron took that opportunity to grasp Reid's wrist tightly and snap it into the metallic cuffs that Reid had all but forgotten Aaron had been holding. Aaron reach continued to Reid's back and collected the other wrist, without resistance, and locked it in the other cuff, securing Reid's hands behind his back. It felt strange to think it but in Aaron's actions Spencer felt an overwhelming sense of relief – the cuffs meant he didn't have to think about restraining himself, keeping himself in check, and using his own self-control to keep from returning Aaron's caresses and affections. Reid reminded himself that the biting leather belt had been neglected in the corner of the room, far from Aaron's reach, therefore the pain was, most assuredly, over.

Spencer let out a yelp of surprise when Aaron's very capable fingers wrapped around his throbbing and desperate erection. Aaron's grip was firm but not painfully so, and his pace was such that if he continued for much longer, Reid would find himself tumbling over the edge of what promised to be a very satisfying release. Reid whimpered as Aaron's tempo increased and his grip tightened, mingling a tinge of pain in with the intense pleasure, especially as he squeezed down on the head of Spencer's arousal forcing it thru his grip. The ever-increasing pressure mixed with the unrelenting tinge of pain had Spencer dancing on the edge, poised to tumble over it with the slightest coaxing, yet the pain never did relent and it left him frustratingly prepared to beg for his release.

That had been the key last time, Aaron wanted to hear him, wanted him to fill his mouth with something other than rambled statistics and semi-useless facts. Aaron had demanded it before and Reid was prepared to offer up his pleas even before they were demanded of him .

"Please," Spencer breathed out quietly. Aaron was close enough in front of him now that Spencer could nuzzle the older man's neck, whispering his pleas against the skin there. "Please, Sir. I'm so close." Spencer moaned to emphasize his point when Aaron's grip tightened further, making the pass of his head through the older man's fist more painful than anything else.

It was then that Aaron removed all but the ring formed by his thumb and forefinger from Spencer's aching erection. "Are you?" He whispered back, nuzzling Spencer's neck, kissing up the side to the younger man's ear. "Are you really close?" He brought the loose ring of his two fingers tentatively over the angry red skin at the tip of Spencer's erection.

"How close are you?" He stilled his fingers, amused that Spencer didn't wait for permission before attempting to thrust himself through the frustratingly loose opening. "You going to come for me?" He sunk the nails of his free hand into Spencer's hips, stilling them, then drawing the ring of his two fingers back teasingly, to only loosely surround the head. Spencer just shook and whimpered in response, too far gone to articulate anything meaningful.

Aaron's wicked smile grew broader as he brought the loose circle of his thumb and forefinger over the tip of Spencer's arousal but resisted going any further down the shaft, just focusing a feather-light touch on the excruciatingly swollen tip.

Seeing Spencer Reid at a loss for words was quite the treat, hearing the younger man grunt as he moved his face from side to side trying to find some way to push himself over the brink that Aaron happily kept him dangling upon. Aaron laughed as Reid continued to struggle, moaning when Hotch added his middle finger to the ring that he tightened and then brought down all the way to the base of Spencer's length. "Oh god," Spencer whined as he felt himself nearing his release, "Please, sir. Please let me come."

Aaron pulled the tightening loop of fingers back the way they'd come and was rewarded by another throaty whine from his companion. "Waiting can be painful," Aaron whispered as his unoccupied hand came to tangle in Reid's hair, "Feeling that desperate burn in the pit of your stomach," Hotch said, his voice low and seductive but with an edge, that if Spencer had been at all aware, would have left him weary of what was to follow. Aaron tightened the thin ring of digits and slid them slowly back down Spencer's aching length. "You can feel it, can't you Spencer?" Sliding his fingers back up Reid's arousal only to pull away and play his fingers teasing across the now aching head, "I'd go to bed with that feeling in the pit of my stomach, come into the office, watching you laugh and reminisce with the other team members, talking about time that could have been spent with me," Aaron's fingers fit back into that torturous ring and slid tightly down Spencer's length and the young man mewed with want. "I had to wait, never knowing if release from the hold you had on me would end."

Spencer didn't bother to wait for permission to speak, "Please, oh god, Aaron, please. I'm sorry. Please." Reid was beyond recognizing his transgression, especially when Aaron appeared to heed his desperate cries and wrapped the rest of his fingers firmly around Reid's arousal.

Aaron's other hand was still in Reid's hair, holding him so that he had no choice but to look at Aaron as he continued to taunt him. "It was having you right there," Aaron pumped his fist up and down the length or Spencer's arousal, driving him over the edge. Spencer let out a cry of grateful relief which was quickly choked back and replaced with a whine of disappointment when Aaron removed his hand entirely, letting the young man's erection throb and drip in mid-air, jerkily begging for some sort of contact as his orgasm began and then was stopped short. Aaron's grip on Spencer's hair became painfully tight, "It was having you there and gaining no pleasure, no satisfaction," Aaron leaned in growling the last part close to Spencer's ear, "having the sweetest feelings turn into a slow burning pain."

Reid yelped when Aaron's firm grip came into unrelenting contact with Reid's aching length. Hotch knew exactly the kind of excruciating pain Spencer must have been feeling as he stroked the young man in the way that he would have relished just moments ago. As it were, the movements were unbearable and cruelly painful. Reid tried to squirm away from him but Aaron kept him in place content to ruin any pleasure that the Reid may have gained from the contact. The unquenched desire and Spencer's youthfulness guaranteed that he could continue through, what would have been, Reid recovery period and the young man's arousal would remain firm as if he was still awaiting his release.

"Sir, please. Please stop." Spencer begged as he tried to rip himself away from the rapid pumping of Aaron's fist on his pained arousal.

Aaron just shook his head, his wicked, self-satisfied smile never ceasing.

It didn't take long before Reid's yelps of pain and struggles to evade Aaron's touch turned their tide and Spencer was trying to suppress groans of want before they could escape his mouth. Spencer's hips were no longer trying to shy away from Aaron's touch. On the contrary, he was now pushing back toward the older man trying to gain a sense of increased friction from a grip that seemed to be loosening around him yet again.

The smile left Aaron's face and his eyes narrowed as Spencer's attempt to increase his pleasure became more overt. Aaron looked into Reid's eyes, his voice taking on a timbre of clinical seriousness, "You're the one who ended up on my doorstep with all of that knowledge, what does the great scientific mind have to say about your condition, Spencer? How long will you let me do this to you?"

Reid choked and tried to buck his hips into the thin ring of fingers that Hotch now surrounded him with. "Answer me." Aaron taunted as he sped up the motion of the circle of his thumb and forefinger over the tip of Reid's arousal.

When Reid opened his mouth to comply, his voice came out laced with giddy laughter, as if he was speaking for the first time after a long bout of hard laughter, "Given my age," Reid began and then his voice shuttered and cracked with the same mistakably giddy stutters when Aaron continued to manipulate the young man's length, "Oh god," Spencer gasped before continuing, "physical condition and lack of-" he broke off panting and trying to gain greater contact with Aaron's hand but quickly tried to pick up his speech when he realized that the two – Aaron's touch and Spencer's words – were interconnected. He tried to clear his throat and continue, looking into the older man's narrowed darkening eyes as he tried to focus and speak, "a lack of a paternal history that would suggest otherwise – this," Reid dropped his eyes to Aaron's languidly moving fist, "-you could theoretically do this to me several times over." Another gasp, another shudder as Aaron's pace and pressure increased and Reid felt himself tumbling toward another brink.

Aaron moved in to kiss Reid as his pace continued, unflagging, "It's good that I'm not that cruel then," Hotch said driving Spencer to and then over the edge, only to release his grip and look down to see a diminished surge of fluid leave the young man, his erection still throbbing and dancing about in the air, begging for contact to complete the release. "Because if I were that cruel," Aaron whispered, lightly kissing Spencer's lips, "I imagine it would be excruciating." Aaron's sadistic laughter muffling the cries of the younger man, when after Aaron was sure Spencer was clear of his ruined release, he continued to stroke him again taking great care to exert cringe-inducing pressure on Reid's sensitive length.

"Don't." Reid cried out, nearly out of his mind with the burning pain and aching need for release that seemed as if it would never be granted. "Just please stop. Stop, Sir."

Aaron looked sideways at Reid as he took a step back, dropped his hand away from Reid's aching length. "You're right," Hotch said matter-of-factly. "I couldn't keep this up for a week anyhow. It seems fair to send you to bed like this," He gave another few quick strokes to Reid's arousal, pleased when the young man seemed to seek out greater contact, the pain had given way to renewed arousal.

"Get in bed," Aaron gestured to the turned-down King bed. "I'm sure I can find some work to start on." Reid took a few reluctant steps before turning to look at Hotch, wondering if he seriously expected him to attempt to sleep and if he did, if he was supposed to remain with his hands fastened behind his back.

"Get in bed." Aaron repeated firmly and then turned his back on Reid and walked to the desk, listening closely as the young man attempted to sit on the bed and then inch his way under the covers. Hotch sunk down behind the desk as Reid let out a simultaneous groan of relief, no doubt as the fabric of sheets ran over his sensitive length and he slid under the sheets.

Aaron feigned interest in the papers that covered the hotel-issue desk, all the while listening to the young man behind him tossing and turning on the bed, marked by the occasion groan of discomfort or disappointment and the rattle of the cuffs as they knocked together restlessly. Aaron removed his watch and set it on the desk in front of him, determined to restrain himself for at least ten minutes before going to Reid.

The minutes ticked by and Reid seemed to toss and turn with every other second but as the ten minute mark drew closer, Reid's tossing and turning ceased and Aaron heard what sounded like a wet sigh. Reid wasn't the type to manipulate with faux emotional displays so Hotch knew the sound was never meant for his ears. Aaron turned slowly to look over his shoulders and sure enough, Spencer's back was to him, and he caught that slender, marred back shiver a bit before Aaron turned his focus back to the desk.

Aaron waited another moment before he rose to his feet quietly and removed the undershirt he was still wearing and made to remove his slacks when he felt something heavy in one of the pockets. Ah yes, he thought upon dipping his fingers into the silky lining, the razor. Aaron removed it before kicking off his pants and the rest of his clothing.

Aaron could no longer be certain of Spencer's remaining arousal but Aaron's desire had remained, unflagging, since he had watched Spencer eye the braided belt as he removed it from his suitcase. At first it had pulsed with the heady arousal of retaliation but when Spencer had removed his underclothing to reveal the freshened cut on his shoulder, Aaron's singular desire had been to scoop the younger man up in his arms and not to leave him until the BAU sent out a search party. Aaron's action that night had reflected more the former than the latter and now was the time to redeem himself to Spencer, to make clear that jealousy was furthest feeling from his mind.

Aaron approached the bed slowly but Spencer did not turn to face him. Spencer's breathing had evened a bit and for a moment, Aaron wondered if he hadn't begun to drift toward sleep. Aaron looked over the younger man, taking in his steady breath, his loosely lidded eyes, and faint outline of his still-frustrated arousal. Aaron reached over and turned off the bedside light, submerging the room in darkness, save for the dim silver glare from Aaron's open laptop.

Reid opened his eye in the darkness and tried his best to impart a pleading glance to the older man, even through the dim room. Reid turned onto his back, looking up at Aaron, and began to beg again, "Please, sir. Please, I am sorry, I slipped. Please don't make me stay like this," He shifted uncomfortably to emphasize his hands still clasped behind his back.

Aaron clasped Reid's unmarred shoulder and pulled him into a sitting position, snatching the keys from the bedside table, he unfastened the younger man's wrists. Spencer had little time to enjoy his freedom because as soon as the cuffs had cleared his wrists they were replaced by Aaron's strong grip and he was guided back onto the mattress, a thin sheet the only thing separating Spencer from the feeling of the older man's warm, exposed skin.

Hotch could resist the urge to roll his hips teasingly into the younger man as he positioned himself above the young man who was now on his back, looking up at his with mix of desperation and hopefulness. Aaron could help being a little selfish, indulging in a lingering kiss to younger man's neck, nibbling and nipping outward from his neck toward the brand on his shoulder.

Reid began worrying his lower lip to stifle another sob but the closer Aaron drew to the tell-tale mark, the harder it became for him to keep his emotions in check. His arousal flagged some from the angst but still left a burn in his stomach that was quickly manifesting as distress. Aaron looked away from the patch of skin that he was toying with on Reid's collarbone and looked toward the young man. Aaron was used to Spencer's tears and in this headspace, he was obliged to ignore them but that had yet to feel natural or like the correct response.

Aaron brought his eyes level with the younger man, "If any one of those tears are fear that a piece of the Unit Chief still exists in this moment and that you'll be answering for those cuts somewhere outside this bed then put it out of that busy mind of yours," Aaron said seriously, looking into Spencer's frightened and remorseful eyes. No new tears left Spencer's eyes after those words, so Aaron leaned closer, his breath caressing Spencer's ear, "How did you do this?" Aaron kissed Spencer's cheek lightly, taking back many tears on his lips.

Spencer's lean fingers, which had been clutched in perpetual fists since their scene had begun, unfurled with the goal of capturing at least one of the hands that held his wrists captive. "The night of the morning that I'd left you," Spencer sighed and then moaned softly as Aaron pressed closer to him, allowing Spencer's hand to catch his, still keeping his hands in place. Spencer's hands clung to the one hand that Aaron had offered while Aaron's freed hand supported the older man as he supported himself above Reid.

Aaron hummed contentedly in a low growl as he kissed around the scratches on Spencer's shoulder. "How?" Aaron whispered, he'd meant it to sound demanding, gravely serious but Reid insistence at their contact, the needy stretch of the younger man's his towards his own left him sounding just as needy, lasciviously desperate for those sordid details.

"The same way you had," Reid said, timidly to his confessor, hoping that would suffice, maybe hoping to draw out the older man's pleasure just as Reid had been denied his.

Aaron sunk his nails into the palm of Reid's hand, the one that he had offered so readily not that long ago. "Spencer," His voice was low and threatening.

"I did it the first time before getting into the shower," Reid whined in pain as he spoke, he had hesitated causing Aaron to sink his teeth into another tender patch of skin.

Between the pain and the closeness of the older man, Spencer was beginning to feel that frustration uncoiling in his stomach and giving way to another overly-optimistic arousal. The shame and fear surrounding the re-cutting of those three letters having been assuaged now the remembering of those cuts only brought arousal. "I saw myself in the mirror," Spencer whispered, his face still wet from his tears, nuzzled the side Aaron's face, "I looked in the mirror and I could see you standing behind me."

Aaron kissed him before allowing him to continue, shifting their positions so that he lay facing Spencer. He had turned Spencer to his side, off of his injuries, and now running his freed hand over the cuts more readily.

Before Spencer continued, he drew as close as he could to the older man, bringing their arousal into intense, torturous contact. Reid moved his hips, enticing the other man to do the same. Reid continued, "I did it with a scalpel I had taken," Reid didn't elaborate any further, "it didn't feel the same without your fingers guiding it, without you to lean against," Reid sighed as began to return his squirming, bucking movement in languid agreement.

Spencer could sense the older man's desire was now keeping pace with his own frustration. "I'd drag it through the healing skin and I'd want so badly to beg for you, to beg for you to take my pain and control from me," Spencer tried to stray from the emotion that had swirled around each of their intimate moments but it was never far from either man's mind.

"What did you do after?" Aaron asked, kissing Spencer after his last admission.

"Not what you're thinking," Spencer said, grinding knowingly against the older man who was showing signs of losing his hold on composure. "I did everything I could not to do that, Sir." Spencer said with perfect obedience, licking his lips as he felt Aaron shiver. Spencer opened his eyes and with a look of wide-eyed submission, "That belongs to you now, doesn't it?" Spencer wriggled closer, working his freed fingertips toward the older man, and tentatively playing over those sweetly sensitive points, "I wanted badly to come when I made those marks, I could still feel you pressing into me," Spencer's hand came to enclose around both of their lengths. "Please, sir?" Reid begged with a final tilt of his hips. Aaron growled low in his throat before regaining enough control to turn the tables on Reid, replacing Spencer's hand with his and bring them over the edge.

Spencer didn't pull away from the older man as their bliss began to subside, instead he drew even closer. Spencer laid there, his eyes half-closed in blissful peace, drifting slowly into a contented sleep; he could feel unconsciousness spreading over him as warmly as the blanket that Aaron had pulled over them. Spencer's eyes sprung open when he felt a coolness on his wrist and then the sound of an all too familiar metallic click.

"Just in case you feel inclined to sneak out again," Aaron smiled broadly as Spencer began to sputter out objections. By the time Reid had formed a coherent protest, Aaron had already turned his back and pulled the cover over his shoulders, "See you in the morning."

* * *

><p><strong>AN: I sat on this for months, still not confident about the characterization and the progression but I had fun writing it (most of it) and hopefully you enjoyed reading it. I am pretty certain that this marks the end of this series. I couldn't really go much farther without going totally far afield or warping the characters completely (some may argue, I already have). I appreciate all of your interest, readership, and branching into the other works I've put out there. As always, I trust you will be honest but kind. Also, if there is any crossover readership, I feel I should let you know that I have chapters for 'Restored' and 'Any Road' written but unpublished…that'll happen eventually. Thank you again for taking the time to read this and I hope you felt it was worthwhile.  
><strong>


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